


From Distant Lands Untold

by kawakaeguri



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Arranged Marriage, Different Magic, Eventual Smut, F/M, Gen, Lands beyond Thedas, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-02
Updated: 2018-02-05
Packaged: 2019-02-09 11:19:48
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 24,978
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12886770
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kawakaeguri/pseuds/kawakaeguri
Summary: There are lands far beyond the shores of Thedas, where only rumors and legends live. It is from there she flees, running from the political turmoil of her home. Hidden in the barbaric wilds of the south, she grows, until the last of her companions perishes. Finding herself utterly alone in a strange new land, she finds herself fighting just to survive, until a kind family takes her in, making her one of them- a Trevelyan of Ostwick.





	1. The Errant Heir

**Author's Note:**

> Can't get this idea out of my head, so here we go!

“Take her and run!”

Strong arms wrapped around her tiny waist, throwing her over his shoulder with ease.

“Mama! Papa!” No one heeded her shrill cries, all of their focus on the heavy doors at the end of the gilded hall, trembling with every thrust of the battering ram on the other side. Magic crackled wildly through the air. Desperately, the small child struggled against the vice-like grip that held her firmly in place. “Let me go!”

“I cannot, princess. We have to run.”

“No!” she wailed, thrashing against the older man’s back. “My place is with them!”

“You would die,” he grunted.

“I would die with honor at least!”

“What do you know of honor, little one?” He did not cease sprinting through the palace, countless marble statues and rich tapestries blurring together as he spoke over his shoulder to her. “There is no honor is being slaughtered like a herdbeast. You are young. You will grow, train, and return one day in the future. That is where your honor lies.”

The bright white stone walls opened up as they descended down into the yards, lush green grass and a riot of every sort of flower covering the ground as far as the eye could see. Abruptly, he turned, racing across the gravel path into the stables, where several others waited on his arrival. The scent of fresh hay and horseflesh surround her. “Kadir! You made it. Everything is prepared. Our ship lays in the Dragon Harbor.” Tossing the child up into his saddle, the man they called Kadir vaulted up behind her, eyes so dark they were almost black watching his men from above a thick black beard that hid most of his face, while they hurried to tie on the last of the bags to the horses.

“The capital is lost to us. There is nothing for us to do besides protect her.”

“Until death do we serve,” the murmured voices echoed up to the small princess, sitting erect on the saddle, her jet black hair hanging like a sheet behind her. Impossibly bright blue eyes, flecked with brilliant gold, regarded the men and women bowing in front of her on the dusty stable floor. She remained silent. 

Leather reins snapped against the horse’s neck as soon as the call was given, spurring it on into a mad gallop toward the distant shore. Gripping onto the saddlehorn, she gritted her teeth in a futile attempt to keep her tears at bay as her home faded behind them. The sprawling palace, marble and gold walls glittering in the rising sun, had served her family for generations. And now it burned, the screams of her inhabitants begging for mercy vaguely reaching her over the hills. _Nikharu_. The name would be forever etched onto her mind. The man who caused all of this destruction. _He will pay_ , she vowed with all the fervor a four year old could muster.

She smelled the salt first. The ocean had always been her favorite place, the days the governess would bring her to the sandy beaches to frolic in the cool waters a fond memory in her mind. Now it would take her away from her home. The deep blue waters lapped gently against the sandy shore, a few study rowboats rolling in the shallows, waiting on the group to approach. Kadir gracefully dismounted even before the horse came to a complete stop, pulling the girl down with him. “Get on the boat,” he told her gruffly, reaching back to untie the bags. Once, she might have protested his curt tone. Today, she obeyed without argument. Her face was solemn as she stared back inland, watching the sky shimmer behind the heat of the fires, black smoke curling up to the skies. Rathyni, crown jewel of Erythaea, was no more. 

“Where will we go?” she asked softly once they were safely aboard the ship. His large, calloused hand gripped her shoulder in a comforting squeeze.

“South. There are lands to the south of us, where he will never find you. There we will go, and there we will live until you are grown and strong.”

“What are these lands like?” Her young mind’s curiosity was pricked. There had never been mention of places beyond the Cerulan Sea.

“Barbaric,” Kadir sighed, running his fingers through closely cropped black hair. “The way they view magic, well… You will have to keep your talents a secret, Princess Ilaria.”

She frowned, creases marring her delicate features. “They are a gift from the gods. Why should I hide their blessing?”

“The southerners will take you, imprison you. Possibly even kill you. They view magic as a curse.” The little girl shivered. To what kind of place were they going? He noticed her trembling lip. It was too much for the young child, to hear of things such as this on today, of all days. His voice lowered into a more gentle cadence. “Would you like to see your room, Princess?”

“Yes, please,” she murmured softly. Wide eyed, she trotted after her father’s retainer, taking in the smooth, worn planks that constructed the ship, the lanterns that swung from ropes suspended from the ceiling, the furniture bolted down to the floors and walls. 

“I know it’s not much, but it will have to suffice,” he gestured at the sparse room apologetically. There was just enough room for a small bunk and a tiny table. “But things will have to be different from now on. You can no longer be Princess Illaria. Do you understand?” Kadir knelt down onto the rocking floor, taking her hand within his. “It will draw too much attention to ourselves, attention we cannot afford. It is for your own safety.”

“Then who will I be?” she cocked her head at him. 

“We will come up with a new name. But all of that can wait. Rest for now, carina.” She managed a tiny smile at the term of endearment. With a final bow, Kadir left her room. Alone. She was alone, for the first time in her life. Before, there had always been someone with her, even when she slept. Her governess, her siblings, servants. And now, in this tiny ship cabin, somewhere over the endless depth of the Cerulan Sea, she was alone.

She cried herself to sleep that night. And every other night, for weeks. Kadir and the other guards left her alone the first few days, out of deference for her grief. Then her training had began. She was a Princess of Erythaea, and one of the Hikari. There were only ever twenty or so Hikari alive at once, the magical order that protected the country. And now, she was it. The rest had been betrayed. 

He started her on daggers first, then the bow. Magic would have to wait until they were safely off the wooden ship, the risk of fire too great on the open seas. Over and over, he made her run drills across the open deck, ignoring her cries as the brutal pace shredded her soft skin, wholly unused to any physical labor. She whimpered as he barked at her to pick up her blunted daggers once more, the metal rubbing against broken blisters that had yet to heal. Kadir hesitated at that small, pitiful sound. “I am sorry,” he informed her with a melanchony sigh. “If these were normal circumstances, you would not have started your training for another three years. But there are not normal times.”

“I understand,” she gritted her teeth, determined to not cry again. Ever again. 

More weeks passed until all she could remember was the endless ocean, the burning sun, sweat soaking her plain clothes, and the feel of her weapons in her small hands. Her hands were finally starting to develop callouses, the pain fading to a distant memory. The ship became her entire existence.

“We should see land within the next few days,” Kadir offered her a towel and a ladle of water as they paused for a short break from training. “Do you remember our story?”

“I do.”

“Storm incoming!” The crack of thunder was louder than anything she had ever heard in her life, eerily reminiscent of a battering ram, pounding against palace doors. Horrified, she watched as the sky darkened almost instantly above them, lightning arcing across the black clouds, waves rising taller than the city’s walls to tower over their ship, which suddenly seemed much smaller. She could do nothing as she gripped onto Kadir’s hand, watching as the sailors and her men were swept into the churning, inky depths of the ocean, one by one. There was barely enough time to even scream as her hands were ripped away from his. The icy waters flooded the deck, swept around her small body, and threw her high into the air, the people scurrying across the deck appearing like ants from this height.

Then she fell.

Down.

Down.

Where the frigid darkness swallowed her whole.

***

“If I ever say hey, let’s all go to the Storm Coast, ever again, someone slap me,” he grumbled. “This blasted rain has me feeling moldy. I have mildew in places that should never even have mildew.”

“I’m quite certain that no place on you should ever have mildew,” his companion sniffed. “Perhaps you should bathe.”

“Trying to get me naked?” he waggled his eyebrows at her.

“Herald, please.”

“I’d never thought I’d see the day when someone would actually dare flirt with the Seeker,” a dwarf behind them chuckled.

“And why wouldn’t I, Varric? She’s a beautiful woman, after all. And I have a severe weakness for beautiful women.”

“You also apparently have a severe lack of self preservation.”

Maxwell Trevelyan grinned at his companions, shrugging nonchalantly. “Maybe I just like living on the edge.”

“I’ll show you the edge. The edge of a cliff,” Seeker Cassandra Pentaghast grumbled as she shoved past the man. 

“You’d have to touch me if you shoved me, you know.”

“I wonder,” a bald elf mused as he walked beside the Herald, “If you are that brave, or merely just lack the intelligence necessary.”

“You wound me, Solas,” Maxwell staggered dramatically, a hand over his heart. Being the Herald of Andraste wasn’t all bad, he decided. After waking up with a strange, green magical mark on his hand, he had been thrust into the Inquisition, reluctantly pledging his aid to help close the Breach, the massive tear in the Veil that dominated the skyscape. In his opinion, the Breach itself wasn’t even really the problem. It was the dozens of smaller rifts it had spawned across Ferelden and Orlais. Rifts he was now expected to close. Him. Just one man. Against Maker knew how many rifts. But at least he was here, and not at home. That alone had been a major benefit. Not that he disliked his home, it was just… Things had been complicated as of late. After he was done here, he would go back, and figure things out. In the meantime, he was determined to enjoy himself. There were so many lovely ladies back in Haven, including the Seeker who now accompanied him, the beautiful Antivan ambassador, that cute washerwoman, the possibilities were endless. He grinned to himself, thinking of the kiss Flissa, one of the barmaids, had snuck him before he left. Maybe she would be willing to give him another when he returned.

Just ahead of them, Cassandra raised her hand in warning, eyes glaring at the path up ahead. The valley they traveled through narrowed significantly, proving the perfect place for an-

“Ambush!”

A dozen bandits dropped down from the hidden crevasses above them, loose rocks skittering down the side of the cliff walls as the men slid to the ground.

“Mornin’,” the lead bandit grinned. “There be a toll for crossing this here land, folks. Five gold sovereigns per person.”

“I think not,” Cassandra spat, unsheathing her sword.

“Well, we tried. Get ‘em, boys!”

There were too many, the quarters too close for Solas or Varric to get a good angle on the rogues that darted in and out between the two warriors.

“This is not looking good,” Varric gritted out, leaping back yet again to get out of range of the daggers and rank breath that swung at his face. Solas merely grunted in agreement, throwing a small fireball at another’s back.

“This is bullshit!” Maxwell yelled from somewhere in the middle of the fray. 

“Behind you, Herald!” Spinning around, he came face to face with yet another rogue, trying to sneak up on him. With a smug grin, Maxwell watched as the man suddenly fell, an arrow lodged through his eye.

“Thanks, Varric!”

“Wasn’t me!” 

Startled, the Herald parried a thrust to his left, unable to spare even a second to glance around to find their new ally. The bandits dropped like flies after the first, a single arrow ending each of their miserable lives.

“Up on that ledge! Get ‘er!” The few remaining highwaymen turned their own bows to the mysterious figure above them, scrambling up the jagged cliffs in an attempt to bring her down. Flaunting a grace he knew too well, Maxwell watched as the woman landed lightly on the ground, withdrawing twin swords, the metal whispering against her leather scabbards. He sighed, idly bending down to wipe the blood off his sword on a fallen man’s shirt.

“Uh, Herald? Shouldn’t we help her?” Varric gestured to where five bandits converged on the petite woman. 

“She doesn’t need it,” Maxwell grumbled. “Just watch.” Cassandra cocked an eyebrow at him, but lowered her sword anyways. The stranger was… magnificent. Her blades moved like a silver tornado, whirling around her lithe frame, finding every little nook and exposed cranny of their armor. The ground beneath her stained itself red with their blood. Pulling her sword free of the last bandit a few scant minutes later, the woman straightened, flicking her obsidian braid behind her shoulder.

“There you are.” Her voice was smooth, melodic, indicating a cultured and noble upbringing.

“You know this woman?” Cassandra rounded on the Herald, who was glaring at the stranger with a childish pout.

“She’s my wife.”


	2. Welcome to Haven

“I’m not really his wife. I’m his fianceé.”

“Practically my wife,” Maxwell grumbled. Heaving a loud sigh, he bowed over her hand. “Lady Aryana Trevelyan, may I introduce the Seeker Cassandra, Messere Varric, and Solas. The elf. He’s an apostate,” he added that last bit in an overly loud whisper.

“Trevelyan? I thought you said you weren’t married…?” Cassandra frowned at the couple.

“His parents adopted me, giving me their last name some time ago. It was only recently they decided we should marry,” Aryana explained. “I know it’s rather complicated and unconventional.”

“More like they wanted you to babysit me for the rest of my life.”

“Well if you wouldn’t do things, like run halfway across Thedas to conclaves that were going to blow up, maybe I wouldn’t have to,” she snapped.

“Are you here to drag me back? Because I can’t go back, you know. I have duties and stuff.” He ignored her previous comment, crossing one arm stubbornly across his chest, waving the marked hand in her face.

“I see that,” she grabbed his hand, inspecting the magic embedded there. “So the rumors we’ve heard are true? You are the only one who can close the rifts?”

“Yup. So I can’t go back to Ostwick.”

“Alright.”

“I said- wait, what?”

Aryana shrugged. “Stay with the Inquisition. After all, I do believe the world takes precedence over our wedding.”

“Ah. Yes. Yes, it does.”

“I’ll just come with you.”

“What!” Maxwell spluttered, jaw hanging agape. “You can’t!”

“I think she should,” Varric grinned, enjoying the Herald’s discomfort far too much to let her go now. “She’s an excellent fighter, and we definitely need more of that.”

“I agree,” Cassandra nodded, smirking only slightly at the Herald’s pained groan.

“Welcome to the Inquisition,” Solas smiled down at the small human woman.

Maxwell was uncharacteristically silent the entire way back to camp, preferring to expend his energy glowering at the road and kicking the rocks that dared get in his way. Aryana ignored him, for her part.

“So, tell us about yourself,” Varric sidled up next to the woman, a winning smile plastered on his face. She turned toward him, lyrium blue eyes flecked with bright gold serenely regarding the dwarf.

“There is not much to tell, I’m afraid. My name is Aryana Trevelyan. I am an orphan, adopted by Bann and Lady Trevelyan when I was 15 after I saved their lives from bandits. They gave me a home, a family,” she answered, a tiny flicker of her eye betraying some deeper emotion. “I owe them everything.”

“Including the rest of your life, bound in marriage to their son,” a deep voice muttered. Aryana rolled her eyes. “Your _brother_.”

“We’re not related, Maxwell.”

“Might as well be.”

“You fight like siblings,” Cassandra observed.

“We always have. Can you imagine? Being married to your sister? It’s horrible.”

“So why did you agree to it?”

“I didn’t!” He threw his hands up into the air, tilting his head back to stare at the stars beseechingly. “I was supposed to be given to the Templars. But my eldest brother decided he wanted to serve the Templars instead, and passed over the duties of heir to me. My parents decided I needed a steady hand if I was to be Bann. _Her_ hand.”

“I thought nobles usually married other nobility?” Solas smiled at the way the Herald flinched from her piercing glare.

“We do. But she has all the skills of nobility, with all the loyalty to House Trevelyan already. So why look elsewhere?” He was back to pouting. “She’s strong, independent, fierce, intelligent-”

“Careful, Max, else I be flattered from your rousing platitudes,” Aryana interjected in a monotone.

“You know what I mean. You’re more suited to be Bann than I.”

“Probably true,” she conceded. As soon as they reached camp, Maxwell instantly disappeared into his tent, “Probably to sulk,” she sighed, unrolling her own supplies in an empty patch.

“Do you need help?”

“I don’t, but help is always appreciated, Master Solas,” she smiled gratefully as the elf began helping her set up her tent.

“I find it curious,” he stepped back from the completed tent as she dug around in her pack, “That your family would only send you, a lone woman, to retrieve the Herald.”

“You have seen her fight, right?” Maxwell called from inside his tent. “Anyone else would just slow her down.”

“Plus his family prefers discretion.”

“Meaning?” Cassandra sat down around the crackling fire, stretching her feet out towards the heat, Aryana sitting next to her on a fallen log.

“Meaning this isn’t the first time I’ve ran off and she’s been sent after me.” Dressed in a clean shirt and trousers, he joined them around the campfire, gratefully accept the rations a scout passed out.

Varric chuckled at that. “So this is normal for you both?”

“Pretty much. I think she lives only to torment me.”

Abruptly, Aryana stood up. “Excuse me.” Turning on her heel, she swiftly strode out of camp, disappearing into the darkness beyond the tree line. Maxwell winced and rose, chasing after her.

She heard him follow her. How could she not, given the way he was trampling through the woods like a newborn druffalo, muttering curses under his breath at the roots and rocks that tripped him up as he followed the path she took. “Hey, Arya-”

“Max.” He halted his progress, face softening ever so slightly as he took in her serious expression. “We were worried, you know. They said there was no survivors, except one. What were the odds that you were that one out of hundreds? And we had no word of you. No word at all, until one of the Inquisition’s agents sent us a letter. You couldn’t even write us yourself? We thought you were dead.” Her voice was soft, but he could hear the hurt underneath her neutral tone. He always could. She was closer to him than his own brothers.

“I’m sorry, Ri, I guess I just got so caught up with everything. I’ve been traveling a lot, trying to close the rifts, help the refugees, clean up the fighting that’s going on everywhere. I should have written before. I’m sorry.” Turning to judge his sincerity, her bright eyes bored into his. “You’re not going to cry on me, are you?”

Aryana snorted, lightly punching him in his arm. “I don’t cry.”

“There’s my girl,” he grinned. “Come here.” She stepped into his extended arms, sighing as he hugged her tightly to his chest. “I am sorry.”

“Yes, you are, ass.”

***

Cullen scowled as yet another recruit dropped his sword into the snow, narrowly missing being bashed on the back of the head by another soldier as he scrambled to the ground to retrieve his weapon. “Pay attention to your surroundings!” he barked. “If this were a real battle, you’d have been beheaded.”

“Sorry, Commander!”

His head was throbbing again today. The potion the apothecary, Adan, had given him yesterday had done little to soothe the pain. Pinching the bridge of his nose and wincing at the sharp burn, he continued to glare at the men in front of him, hearing his second approach him from behind. “They’re hopeless. You know that, right?”

“They are farmers and tinkerers. These people have never done anything like this before. I believe they will get better,” Cullen muttered. “They have to.”

He first saw her from his vantage point across the training field, riding into town with the Herald and his party. Even as petite as she was, it was almost impossible to not notice her. Hair as black as obsidian was pulled back into a tight braid, elegant features turned up to observe the town as she approached. Her armor was of decent quality, two scuffed leather scabbards hanging at her side. All in all, she cut a rather unremarkable figure. Except for what he could only describe as her aura. She had an unmistakable grace to her movements, limbs elegantly swinging as she walked with controlled steps. Power. That’s what he felt, strength clinging to her like a second skin. It was rather unnerving, if he was honest with himself. 

Watching as the breeze blew her cloak back, he caught a glimpse of close fitting leathers unable to completely conceal a curvaceous figure, feeling his mouth go dry. He should probably stop staring, but he couldn’t. Her full lips curved up in an alluring smile as she chuckled at something the Herald was saying. Cullen frowned. He wondered what her laugh sounded like. What she would look like, as she laughed for him instead. Oblivious as she was to the recruits behind her, she remained unaware of his attentions. Others did not.

“Pretty thing, ain’t she?” Cullen jumped at the voice, feeling his ears burn red.

“Rylen,” he muttered, forgetting that his second was still beside him, blushing even more as the other man chuckled. “I wasn’t looking at her like that.”

“Sure you weren’t,” the Starkhaven former templar snorted. “Just examining her assets, eh?”

“Wondering who she is and what she brings to the Inquisition,” the blonde man replied primly.

“I’ll tell ya what she brings. The prettiest set of- oof!” Rylen didn’t finish as the Commander elbowed him in the stomach. “Eyes! I was going to say eyes,” he wheezed.

“Right,” Cullen rolled his eyes. Forcing himself to turn away, he turned his attention back to the stumbling recruits in front of him. “You there! Don’t look at your feet, look at your opponent!”

“Commander!” The Herald’s deep voice called out to him. “War room?”

“I’ll be right there,” he nodded, glancing over at Rylen, who was still rubbing his sore stomach. “Take over for a few.”

“Of course, Commander.”

She walked through the gates of Haven at Maxwell’s side, studying the small village that was close to overflowing with people, myriads of hastily constructed cabins and tents forming haphazard pathways through the snow and mud. “I’m staying in there,” he pointed to their left at a small circle of wooden houses. “I’ll have to check with Josephine to see where we can put you.”

“She could just stay with you,” Varric grinned as he broke off from their group, plopping down in front of a large fire.

“Or she could stay with you,” he grumbled back. “The tavern is over there. And just beyond that is the apothecary. And the chantry, of course.” Aryana bit back the uneasy feeling she always had when she entered a chantry, feeling the weight of the sisters’ stare on her back as she summoned her confidence, striding into the nave with her spine held straight. “This way.” Silently, she followed him into the back, letting him usher her into a small room lined with bookshelves. A large table filled the bulk of the room, covered with an oversized map of the southern portion of Thedas, a few wooden markers scattered across the parchment. “Those represent my missions and those of the other advisors,” he tapped one wooden piece that rested on the northern coast of Ferelden. “My last mission. Looking for traces of the Grey Wardens along the Storm Coast.”

“Are they missing?” she frowned.

“Gone, with only a smattering of clues left behind. I did manage to find one of them, but he has no idea where the rest of his Order went. You’ll meet him later.” Candles flickered as the door opened, Cassandra entering the room in her usual brusque manner as a tall woman, face partially hidden by a deep purple cowl followed her at a more sedate pace. Just behind the pair, an Antivan woman dressed in gold softly walked in. “Aryana, this is Leliana, or Sister Nightingale. She was the Divine’s Left Hand. And this is Lady Josephine Montilyet, our ambassador.” She nodded to each of the women. “So we’re only missing-”

The door flew open once more, the metal handle scraping against the stone wall. A tall man dressed in plate armor, covered in a deep burgundy tabard and fur mantle hurried to join them, his hands rising in apology for his lateness. Eyes the color of honeyed whiskey met her lyrium blue, flames sparkling off the golden flecks in her irises. His nostrils flared as he sucked in a sharp breath at the sight. “I, er… Sorry I’m late,” he finished lamely.

“Right on time, Commander,” Maxwell offered him a friendly grin. “This is Cullen Rutherford, Commander of the Inquisition’s armies. Everyone, this is Aryana Trevelyan. My wife.”

“Wife?” Cullen was taken aback, head jerking up.

“Fianceé,” Aryana sighed. “For someone who doesn’t even want to marry me, you are very intent on introducing me to the world as your spouse.”

“Only because it irks you, my dear.”

“It doesn’t irk me. You do.”

Leliana hid a small smile as she watched the pair bicker. “You are Bann Trevelyan’s ward, are you not?”

“You know?” Maxwell furrowed his brow before throwing up his hands. “Of course you know.”

The spymaster nodded sagely. “Adopted by your family in 31. Your engagement was set last fall, was it not?”

“Correct. Until he ran away from me.”

“I didn’t run away from you! I ran away from the situation.”

“I am the situation, Maxwell.”

“I was going to come back,” the Herald muttered sheepishly as his fianceé huffed an incredulous breath. “Anyways. She’s staying for now. Arya is an accomplished fighter and will be useful, I think. If anything, the Commander can use her to scare the troops into line. She’s good at scaring people.”

“I’ve had lots of practice.”

Cullen stammered a response, “I- uh- would welcome her help.” He felt his face flush red as all the eyes in the room turned to stare at his discomfort. Holding his breath for an awkward moment, he rubbed the back of his neck, staring down at the map as if he found the curling parchment the most fascinating thing in the world.

“Well, that is settled then,” Leliana smirked. “We received your last few letters about the traces of the Grey Wardens’ trail you found. My agents are scouring the area, to see if we can discover the direction they took.”

“Right,” Maxwell nodded. “What’s next?”

Josephine tapped her quill against her writing board. “Thanks to your efforts, Herald, we now have enough influence to approach the templars, if that is your wish. We have several noble houses of Orlais now allied to our cause. I am sure they would be willing to accompany you to Therinfal Redoubt.”

“Even Lord Seeker Lucius will not be able to refuse you then, with so many nobles on his doorstep,” Cassandra added.

“The Lord Seeker hates me,” the Herald groaned.

“But his templars have heard you are the chosen of Andraste, saved by Her hand in the Fade. They may yet rethink their stance,” Josephine replied.

“We do not need the Lord Seeker. We need his templars.” Leliana’s eyes met Maxwell’s. He nodded.

“Alright, let’s get everything ready.”

Aryana slipped out of the war room then, as the talks turned to the logistics of their current operation, hurrying out of the stifling air of the chantry. Maxwell caught up to her just as she started down the path. “This way,” he beckoned for her to follow him. Her boots crunching in the snow, she stepped carefully through the mud, observing the townsfolk. _They actually believe he’s the Herald of Andraste_ , she realized with a start. Everywhere he went, men and women approached him, bowing reverently, asking for his blessing, straining to just touch him, to which he would just blink, blush, and mutter something under his breath to satisfy them. “They’re relentless.” He groaned as they reached his cabin, pushing her inside. There was a fireplace, she noted with a hint of glee. Waving her hands, the flames sprung to life, crackling merrily against the logs.

“So, what’s going on with the templars?”

“Shit.” He flopped down backwards on his bed, not bothering to remove his armor until she rose and started tugging on his bracers. Shoving her off, he began undoing the buckles himself. “Lord Seeker has taken over the templars, the ones not running wild killing everyone, at least. He punched a Sister, did you know that? Knocked her out, right in front of a crowd in Val Royeaux. But we need them to close the Breach, so…” Maxwell shrugged. “I could have gone to the mages instead for aid, but I’m worried about Gabriel and Brennan. I don’t know if they’re with the Lord Seeker, or somewhere else, or what. There’s been no word from them at all.”

Aryana frowned at the mention of his other brothers. All four Trevelyan boys treated her like their own sister, even though she had been closest to Maxwell. Gabriel was three years older than her, and had caused quite the scandal when he announced he wanted to join the Templars instead of succeeding his father two years ago. She suspected it was because Brennan, his favorite sibling, was finally of age to join. The youngest, Richard, would complete his training in another year. “What do you think is going on?”

“Nothing good. You know,” he sat up to study his small cabin. “There’s enough room in here to add another cot. You could stay with me, if you wanted.”

“Your mother would have a fit. Plus, I’d rather not. Who knows what you get up to in that bed.”

“I- you- how- what?” His face burned as she raised her eyebrow at him.

“Do you really think I didn’t know about your string of lovers, Max? You’re quite possibly the most renowned lothario in all of the Marches. I’m not mad, you idiot,” she pulled the pillow he had buried his face into off of him, hitting him with it instead. “I know the ways of nobility. Just,” she wrinkled her nose, “Don’t catch anything.”

“We’re not having this conversation.” Peeking out from under the pillow, he scowled at her giggle.

“Whatever you say, husband dearest. I suppose I should see if they’re done with their meeting yet and speak with Josephine about my own quarters.” Aryana patted him on the head as she exited his cabin, making her way back up to the chantry right as the ambassador was walking into her office. “Lady Josephine? Do you have a moment?” she called out in Antivan.

“Of course, Lady Trevelyan!” The beautiful Antivan woman beamed at hearing her native language, replying in the same. “Please, sit. Would you care for some tea?”

“Tea would be lovely,” she gratefully accepted the dainty cup. “Maxwell told me I should see you about lodgings while I stay here.”

“Ah, yes, let me see.” Digging around in her neat piles behind her, Josephine pulled out a thick ledger. “Unfortunately, there are no other cabins left inside the village walls. And I would hate to put you in a tent. Would you mind sharing with someone?”

“I… would prefer not to,” Aryana demurred. “Is there anything outside of the village proper?”

“There is one cabin, about a quarter mile away. It belonged to Master Taigen, but he perished in the Conclave. I would hesitate recommending it to you, my lady, as the woods are not entirely safe to travel alone, especially at night.”

“I shall be fine, Lady Josephine,” she assure the other woman. “After all, I did travel here from Ostwick alone.”

“A fair point. I can have someone show you to, oh! Commander!” The blond man ducked into the office.

“Yes, ambassador?”

“Are you headed back to the lake? Would you mind showing Lady Trevelyan where Master Taigen’s old cabin is? She will be staying there.”

“I…” he gulped as his gaze flickered to the woman sitting across from his colleague. “I would be delighted to. If you will, my lady?” Rising gracefully even in her dirty armor, Aryana gave a smart bow to the ambassador, thanking her for her help.

“Anytime, my lady. You will have to stop by at another time and we can chat for a bit longer.”

“I would like that. Commander?”

“This way, please,” he bowed stiffly. _Get it together, Rutherford. She’s taken._


	3. Frustration

Aryana wondered if he hated her. The Commander all but stomped down the path that led to the lake, jaw set in a firm line as his cloak fluttered behind him in the wind. She had to almost jog to keep up with his long strides.

“Thank you,” she called out in a neutral, pleasing voice, “For taking the time to show me my quarters. I know you must be a very busy man.”

“Ah, it’s not a problem,” he muttered, not even turning to acknowledge her to her face. _Yup. He hates me._ Undeterred, she tried again.

“I know Maxwell offered my services to help train the recruits. Was this something you wished for as well?”

“Your help would be most welcome.” _Is he gritting his teeth? Why is he gritting his teeth?_ Deciding that perhaps she was just that offensive to the man, Aryana fell silent, studying him from behind instead. He was a templar, she realized, watching him walk. The way he carried himself almost as if he was too light, his right hand always hovering his sword, his left angled across his stomach as if it missed the weight of a shield- all of it indicated he had spent long years training as a warrior in armor heavier than what he now wore. And the only ones who wore heavier armor than what he currently wore were the templars. She suppressed a shiver that threatened to shake her body. _The only people Kadir told me to avoid at all cost, and here I’m surrounded by them._

Kadir. It had been awhile since she last thought of her mentor. His death eleven years still weighed heavily on her conscience. After their ship had crashed in northern Tevinter, with only a handful of survivors, mostly the ship’s crew, they had never stayed in any place too long. Just enough time for her to learn the language. Now, thanks to him, she was fluent in four languages, not including Common and her native Erythaean. The last place they had settled in was in Ferelden, in a small cabin on the edge of the Kocari Wilds where they were rarely disturbed. It was the perfect place to finish training the young sorceress, away from the Chantry’s prying eyes. 

And then the darkspawn came. They couldn’t have known the monsters carried the Taint. Or that contact with their blood would kill just as surely as a sword through the gut. Kadir had gotten her out of the path of the rampaging horde, going as far as putting her on a ship in Denerim, even as she begged him not to. “Be brave, little princess,” he had whispered, his once dark skin faded to a gray, ashy pallor, dark eyes now ringed with red. “Remember your duty. And stay away from the templars.”

She never saw him again. And she had forgotten her oath. What could she do, anyways? She had been fourteen, just one little girl, with no army, not even a small one. She was just barely able to keep herself alive for the next year as she stumbled through the Free Marches, relying on the skills Kadir drilled into her head and body to find work as a mercenary. And then she had found the Trevelyans. She owed Kadir everything. And she did nothing to repay his sacrifice. Instead, she threw herself into serving her new family, as if being the best daughter she could be to them would make up for abandoning her oath.

So absorbed was she in her own thoughts that she didn’t realize the Commander had stopped. “Oof!” She rubbed her nose, wincing at where her face had collided with his metal clad back. “Apologies, Commander.”

“No, no, it’s my fault, I should have said something. I apologize. I’m not usually like this,” he smiled sheepishly.

“Like what?”

Cullen sighed. “Rude. I have manners, I swear.”

Her laugh flooded his limbs with warmth, the clear, bright sound ringing in his ears like a bell. “And here I thought you hated me,” she teased.

“Maker, no!” his eyes widened, aghast at the very notion. “I’m so sorry. Well,” he motioned to the cabin in front of them, “This is it.” She peeked in.

It was a simple, sturdy single room building, the sleeping area with one roughly hewn bedframe partitioned off by short dividers. A soot stained hearth rested in one corner, while a worn desk scattered with a few pieces of parchment took up the opposite side. “It’s perfect, thank you, Commander.”

Rubbing his neck, he glanced around, seeing only how dusty the place was. “Are you sure you want to stay here? I’m sure better accommodations could be found within Haven. This is a decent walk from the gates. If anything were to happen…”

“I’m a capable woman, Commander. Tie my own boots and everything,” she smirked back at him, stepping further into the cabin.

He blushed. “I didn’t mean to imply that you weren’t, it’s just, well, there are bandits, and wolves, and-”

Her giggle cut him off. “I’ll be fine, ser. If it makes you feel better, I absolve you of all responsibility for me.”

“You’re the Herald’s fianceé,” he replied gruffly. “I will always feel responsible for your safety.”

Her slender hand rested on his bracer, sending a strange thrill through his limbs even though her skin was nowhere close to his. “I appreciate that, but honestly, this is where I’d prefer to stay.”

“Very well,” he sighed reluctantly. “I can send someone by to help you clean.”

“Oh, would you?” Her smile nearly blinded him with its brilliance. Maker. He would do anything to see that smile directed at him again. “That would be lovely.”

“I, uh, yes, well,” Cullen cleared his throat, unable to stop his stammering. “Right. I’ll just… go then. By your leave, my lady.” With a bemused smile on her full lips, she watched him back out of her cabin, wincing in sympathy as he hit his forehead against the doorframe when he turned too abruptly. Face now the color of a tomato, he ducked his head down, practically running back onto the road that would lead him back to Haven.

_Well. That was different._

***

Pausing just outside of the cabin’s range of view, Cullen groaned, letting his head fall against a nearby tree trunk. The scratchy bark dug into his skin, but he was too agitated to notice. _Maker's breath. She probably thinks I’m a fool now. This isn’t like me at all. What is wrong with me?_ It was immensely frustrating, how he felt reduced to an untried, teenage boy around her. He barely even knew her. Not to mention she was engaged, to the Herald, of all people. He liked the man far too much to disrespect him in such a manner. _I’ll just avoid her from now on_ , he decided. _That should be fairly easy, right?_

He snorted at his uncharacteristic optimism. Hadn’t the Herald suggested she help him train the recruits? Maybe he could refuse. After all, he and Rylen had been handling things alright these past several weeks, along with Cassandra’s occasional help. Cullen sighed. _Oh, who am I kidding. We need the help, and it would be stupid and selfish of me to refuse her aid just because of my own discomfort. You’ll just have to get over it, Rutherford. Just another thing not meant for you._

He should be used to disappointment by now. Nothing in the past decade or so had things gone the way he wanted. Besides, even if she was available, why would she be interested in him? A broken addict, struggling through lyrium withdrawals and his own prejudices. Idly, he wondered what she thought about mages. She probably sympathized with them, he decided. She looked like she has a kind heart. But looks could be deceiving. Maybe she was cruel and spiteful. Was that why the Herald was so reluctant to marry her? 

The thought of Maxwell Trevelyan brought a scowl to his handsome face. He had seen the man closely intertwined with several of the women around the village over the last several weeks. There were always whispers of the man’s… performance, floating around in the morning from the ladies who considered themselves lucky enough to have caught his attention. Previously, he had thought nothing of it, just another nobleman carrying on as they tended to do. But now? Knowing he was engaged to her? Did she know? Was she doing the same behind his back? Why did he care? A low growl escaped his throat, his boot viciously kicking the ground in front of him.

“Problems, Commander?”

He shook his head, even as his face retained its black expression. “No. Men! Give me 50 pushups, now!” The sound of collective groaning was his only answer as the recruits dropped into the snow.

A low whistle rang out behind him along with the sound of boots crunching. “That’s harsh, Commander.” _The Herald. Of course it fucking is._

“Herald,” he gritted out. “Did you need something?”

“Did Aryana find the place okay?” 

“I did,” the woman in question stepped off the path, dressed now in a simple dress, an extra bundle of clothes tucked under one arm. “Which way are the baths?”

“Building to the left of the chantry,” Maxwell pointed to the back of the town. “Do you want me to take you?”

“I’ll manage,” with a wave of her hand, she disappeared beyond the double gates.

“Pretty lass,” Rylen mused, watching her go. The Herald just shrugged.

“Yeah, I guess she is.”

“You do not think so?” Cullen frowned at the man.

“No, no, I do, I mean, I have eyes,” Maxwell hastily amended, “But, I mean… Ugh. Yes, she’s gorgeous. And intelligent. Witty. Charming, when she has a mind to be. Strong. She can kick my ass eleven different ways without breaking a sweat, which is pretty sexy, too.”

“I’m sensing a but,” Rylen prompted.

“But,” he sighed. “Do either of you have siblings?” Both men nodded. “Then you know how it is. Arya and I, we were the closest growing up. She’s like my sister. And the idea of marrying your own sister,” he shivered, the others wincing in sympathy.

“That cannot be easy,” Cullen muttered, feeling shame at his earlier thoughts starting to creep in.

“It’s not. It’s ridiculous and neither of us want it. But what can we do? She feels like she owes my parents too much to go against their wishes. And well, I’m the fucking heir after Gabriel decided to abdicate. And at least if I marry her, I know I’ll have someone intelligent enough to help me by my side. Because Maker knows I’m going to need the help.”

“Could be worse, Herald. She could actually love you,” Rylen grinned.

“Heaven forbid. Well, I’m off to get roaringly drunk. See you gentlemen later.” With a despondent wave, Maxwell trudged through the snow back inside Haven.

“I’m so thankful I’m not nobility,” the former Starkhaven templar shook his head. “Sure, they’re rich, but have you ever met a happy noble? Like, someone seriously happy with their life? It’s like finding a griffon.”

“Extinct?”

“I was going to say rare, but I suppose that they are,” Rylen mused. “Ach. Alright you lot! Back into formation. Shields up!”

Inside the tavern, Maxwell slumped against the wall, hidden in the far corner. Varric frowned as Flissa sauntered over, even the sight of the pretty barmaid unable to rouse him out of his melancholy. Sighing, he put his quill down.

“Is it really that bad?”

Groaning, the Herald let his head fall forward, forehead landing on the wooden table that still smelled of tree sap with a loud thud. “Yes. No. I don’t know. I actually liked it here since i was free for the first time in Maker knows how long. And now, I’m not.”

“I don’t think she’s the type to keep you from doing whatever you want to do.”

“She’s not. It’s my own stupid conscience. She’s just so… good. And every time I act out, I’m reminded of how patient and sweet she is and I feel like a colossal jerk.”

“Patient?”

“Tolerant,” he amended. “She never really scolds me about the stunts I pull, or who I end up with. She’s good to me. Too good. And I’m-” With another groan, he gently let his head drop on the table, over and over.

“Is that helping?”

“Maybe.”

Aryana slid into the chair across from him, her long black hair loose and unbound, smiling over at Varric. “Has he been abusing the furniture in here long?”

“Just started," Varric chuckled.

Gratefully accepting the glass of wine another tavern serving girl brought her, she took a long, dainty sip. “So, Messere Varric. What do you do here?”

“He’s Cassandra’s prisoner,” came the muffled voice of the Herald.

“Was,” the dwarf corrected. “Now I just stick around for fun. And to keep all the ladies happy.”

“And they say chivalry is dead,” Aryana grinned.

“Alive and kicking,” he agreed with a smirk. “I’m an author. This seems as good as place as any for a story. Maybe you’ve heard of me? Hard in Hightown? Tale of the Champion?” His voice lowered an octave. “Swords and Shields?”

“Sorry,” she shook her head. “I read only non-fiction growing up. Strategy, history, that sort of thing.”

“Bah! That’s no fun. I have a few extra copies of each laying around, if you’re interested? Stop by my tent later. I’ll set you up.”

“Don’t try to seduce my fianceé,” Maxwell growled.

“I don’t have to try, Herald. Chest hair does it all for me.”

“It is rather impressive, Max. I mean, look at it,” she gestured.

“I see it. Every damn day.”

“Max is just jealous because his chest is a smooth as a newborn’s bottom,” she stage whispered conspiratorially to Varric.

“Hey! There’s more than that. Look!” He tugged open his shirt at the exact moment that Cullen entered the tavern, raising an eyebrow at the sight of the Herald of Andraste, naked chest exposed, shoving his few meager chest hairs in Aryana and Varric’s faces. “Uh. Commander. Fancy seeing you here.”

"Yes. Strange that I would be in the only tavern in the village after work," Cullen replied dryly, grabbing a cold mug from the bar and sauntering over to the trio.

“Care to join us, Curly?”

“Curly?” Aryana glanced up at the handsome man.

“Before, in Kirkwall, his-”

“Shut it, dwarf,” Cullen grumped, wiping off the froth of ale from his upper lip as he took the empty chair besides Maxwell. “She doesn’t need to hear your inane reasonings for the ridiculous nicknames you give everyone.”

“Oh, but I do, Commander,” she tossed him a saucy wink. “Please, Messere, continue.”

“His hair is curly,” the dwarf shrugged. “That’s all there really is to it. I have to say though, this look suits you more. How much time do you spend on it every day, anyways?”

“Enough,” he muttered, slouching into his seat. Maybe sitting over here had been a terrible idea.

“It looks nice,” she offered, smiling as the Commander straightened a bit. “As for this one…”

“My hair looks fine,” Max mumbled, draining his mug. She eyed him critically. He really was a handsome man. Dark gray deepset eyes the color of the clouds in the middle of a storm looked out from under a high brow, his nose arched and high and crooked from where it had been broken several times as a child. His lips were soft and full, well suited for all the pouting he did around her, attracting more than its fair share of attention from the fairer sex. Dark, warm brown hair that just brushed his jawline was swept to one side, half of his head shaved in his last attempt to send his mother into hysterics, a thin braid framing his face.

“You need a trim.”

“Would you mind?” he asked hopefully.

“No, I don’t. I can do it tomorrow if you find me some shears and a razor.”

“You cut hair?” Cullen asked, mildly surprised.

“I can. Why, do you have need of my services?” He tried to put the notion of what services he precisely desired from her out of his thoughts.

“Possibly. There are a few other women around Haven who can do it, but they’re always so busy.”

“Of course. Come by tomorrow.” Sighing, she turned to her left. “You as well, Varric?” He nodded enthusiastically. “Fine, fine.” Finishing her wine, she set the glass down, stretching backwards with a yawn. “See you gentlemen later. Max,” she nodded, earning another chuckle from the other two men at the table.

“You shouldn’t walk back alone, Lady Trevelyan,” Cullen rose as well.

“I’m fine,” she waved her hands at him impatiently.

“You don’t have your swords,” he pointed out.

“Let her go. Maybe she’ll get eaten by a bear and save me.” Smacking him on the back of his head, Aryana turned away from her fianceé with an indignant huff.

“Well, apparently it behooves me to stay alive and well, so I may continue to thwart the Herald’s plans. Commander? I’d love an escort, if you please.” Giving her a half bow, he smiled as she swept past, the tantalizing scent of lemons and something deliciously spicy wafting up from her hair. Cullen followed her out of the tavern into the chilly night air.

“Are you cold?” he noticed her arms tightly wrapped around her body, hands rubbing her skin.

“A bit,” she confessed. “Ostwick is much warmer than this.”

“Here,” reaching back, he unclasped his fur cloak and draped it over her slender body. Sinking into its warm depths with a grateful sigh, she peered down at her feet.

“Oh, dear. I’m getting the hem all wet.”

“It’ll dry,” he assured her, trying to look anywhere except at her, buried in his clothing. 

“So. Varric said he knew you back in Kirkwall? What did you do there?”

“I was a templar,” he responded in a low tone. “Knight-Captain of the Circle of Magi there.”

“I thought you were a templar,” she mused, glancing over at him. Gods, he really was handsome. The light of the Breach and the moon reflected off of the lake onto his armor, highlighting his bright amber eyes and casting shadows across his chiseled face. He looked… older now in the dark than he had during the day. Harsher. If she had to guess, his time there had not been kind to him. “You have the same mannerisms as one. The way you carry yourself,” she explained at his questioning glance.

“Is that a bad thing?”

“Not really? It’s just a part of you,” she shrugged. “How you trained affects your posture, your gait. It does the same for me.”

“You move-” Maker’s breath, what was he saying? How would he finish this? _You move like sin incarnate. You move like you’re about to pounce. Care to pounce on me?_ Cullen stifled a groan, all too aware that she was waiting for him to finish. “...well. Assured. Confident,” he finished lamely.

“I- thank you. I suppose it comes after years of practice,” she gave him a strange look as her cabin came into view. “Thank you for escorting me, Commander.”

“Cullen,” he blurted out. “Please, it’s just Cullen.”

“Only if you call me Aryana. None of this Lady Trevelyan nonsense,” she smiled up at him.

“Aryana,” he whispered, watching her face shine in the dim light. He had never seen anything so beautiful in his life. _She’s engaged_. The thought shot through him like electricity, jerking him back to the present. “I’ll see you tomorrow. Good night, my lady.”

“Sleep well, Cullen.”


	4. Skilled

Slender knuckles rapped on the door, resounding through his aching head like a stampede of druffalo. Groaning, Maxwell regained consciousness just long enough to rasp out, “Go away.” The knocking ceased. Only for the door to swing open instead, hinges creaking.

“Max, it’s almost high noon. How much did you drink last night?”

“Not enough,” came the muttered response.

“Well, it’s time to get up,” Aryana sighed. “Lady Josephine needs you presentable for lunch, there’s a delegation of several nobles from Orlais who wish to meet you.”

“You go.”

“I’m not the Herald of Andraste.” He yelped as an ice cold bucket of water was flung over him, glaring and spluttering at the smirking woman in the corner of his cabin. “Are you awake now?”

“You… are… evil,” he chattered, dragging himself off his soaked mattress. With an idle gesture, she sent a wave of heat through his bedding, drying the furniture but leaving the man still drenched. Grumbling under his breath, he fought with his reluctant clothing, struggling to get the sopping tunic and breeches off.

Rustling around in his foot locker, Aryana pulled out a fresh pair of dark trousers, a shirt, and a navy blue jacket, all almost unrecognizable due to their wrinkled state. With an exasperated sigh, she gathered up the clothes, passing them to a nearby washerwoman outside to press. Tossing a clean tunic and breeches at him to wear in the meantime, she pulled out a wooden chair just outside of his door while he dressed. “Sit.”

Shivering, he obediently sat where she indicated, sighing in relief as he felt the rush of her magic drying and warming him against the chill of the day. His eyes drifted shut as her hands combed through his hair, trimming the ends neatly, humming a familiar tune under her breath. “You should sing more, Arya. I miss it.”

“Mmph,” was the only response he got, a comb between her lips as she concentrated on her task. He really would be a lucky man to marry her, Maxwell thought. And she did love him, as he loved her, just not in _that_ way. Would it be so bad, to spend the rest of his life with his best friend? Squeezing his eyes shut, he tried to picture her naked in his bed, head thrown back as she-

His eyes flew open, a rolling wave of unease constricting his stomach. _Maker’s balls_ , he groaned to himself. _This is a fucking disaster. I wonder what she thinks about it_. “Hey, Arya. You know, if we got married, we’d have to…”

“To?”

“Do things.”

“Do things,” she replied flatly. “Pray tell, what-”

“Sex things,” he blurted out.

“I am aware of that,” she mumbled.

“And?”

“And what?”

“You’re okay with that? Thinking about us in bed, you naked underneath me, my-”

“Max,” she hissed. “Stop that. I know what’s expected of us.”

“And yet you don’t even want to talk about it?”

“Do you?”

“Not particularly,” he sighed. “What are we going to do?”

“What can we do,” she replied, a note of despondency coloring her voice. “There. Done. Go shave, your clothes should be done soon. Then meet the ambassador in the chantry at the next bell.”

“Yes, mother,” he grumbled, running a hand across his hair. “Thanks, by the way. What are you going to do today?”

“I told the Commander and Varric I’d cut their hair as well, so that first. Then, whatever anyone needs I suppose. Now, shoo.”

Leaving him to drag the chair back inside, she briskly walked away, a slight frown creasing her forehead as she thought about Max’s words. She was no naive maiden when it came to the knowledge of what went on in a marriage bed, Lady Trevelyan had ensured she was properly educated on the matter. But as for physical knowledge of the carnal, she was an innocent. Raised by Kadir and living under the Bann’s gaze and his Lady’s hand meant that any such ideas of intimate activities were quickly curtailed. She was brought up a princess, which meant that she understood that any future husband would be arranged by her guardian or advisors. And now she was indebted to the Trevelyans. Briefly, she wondered what it would be like to lay with a man she truly loved. _Love_ , she scoffed to herself. _A foolish notion if there ever was one. Get your head out of the sand, girl. Love doesn’t exist, not for you._

Passing Varric’s usual haunts, finding them all empty, she continued down to the training field, leaning against a wooden rail as she watched the recruits training. The Commander stood with his back to her, cloak whipping against the wind, his profile just visible to her gaze. His voice rang out across the clearing, booming and authoritative, sending the most unexpected yet delicious shivers down her spine. _I wonder what it would be like with a man like that._ She could almost picture it, his warm, amber eyes boring into hers as his calloused fingers gently trailed down her face, wrapping around her waist, that scar pulling his lips up into a half smirk as he-

“Lady Aryana?” Jerking her head up, she flushed a bright red as she noticed the Commander’s confused stare on her face. “Did you need something?”

“I- uh, ah,” she cleared her throat, wholly unwilling to meet his eyes, focusing instead on a point just beyond him. “You said you wanted me to cut your hair, so I came down here to see if you were free. He keeps stumbling because his weight is off balance,” she said suddenly, pointing to one of the soldiers. “May I?”

“Please,” he motioned to the field. Darting nimbly between the pairs of recruits, she paused by one, examining his feet. 

“Keep on the balls of your feet, not your heels,” she told him. “That will help keep your center pitched forward.” The man shifted, immediately brightening as he felt his balance feel more secure.

“Thank you, my lady!” Nodding, she wandered off, studying another man.

“Bring your back foot more out, it’s too aligned with your front foot.”

“It feels fine,” the lanky man replied gruffly.

“I’m sure it does, but it leaves you vulnerable.”

“What would you know about fightin’ anyways, girl?” Cullen frowned from where he stood, taking one step, then pausing as Aryana reacted. Tapping his partner on the shoulder, she motioned for him to step aside, taking his sword from the other recruit.

“Come at me.”

“I don’t want to hurt you, lass,” the man grinned.

“I’d like to see you try. Now, attack.” He shrugged, rolling his shoulders, obviously putting on a show for his pals, she noted with only a slight amount of ire. “I haven’t got all day, recruit.” His eyes narrowed at that, squaring himself to charge her. With a yell, he rushed her, giving his sword a mighty swing. Casually, almost as if she was bored, she sidestepped him, face expressionless as he stumbled into the space where she had just stood. “Again.”

“Why you little-” Growling, he reset himself, coming at her slightly slower, but with more control. His sword clanged off hers as she met his swipe, twisting underneath the blow, her leg lashing out to kick his knee out from under him. With a grunt, he fell to the ground, looking up only to see the tip of her sword leveled at his eyes.

“If your stance was wider, you wouldn’t have fallen. Stumbled a bit, yes, but you wouldn’t have lost your balance like that.” Aryana leaned over, offering him her hand. After only a moment’s hesitation, he accepted it, lowering his eyes as she helped him to his feet.

“Ten laps around the lake, men, then we will dismiss for lunch,” the Commander’s voice called out from behind her. “Lawson.” The man she had just beaten glanced up. “You give me fifteen laps. For disrespecting the Lady Trevelyan.” Lawson’s eyes widened at the name.

“Yes, ser!” Aryana smiled as the man scampered off, practically tripping over his own feet as he raced away from her.

“That was nicely done,” she turned to look behind her, Cullen giving her a lopsided grin. Her heart stuttered for just a moment, eyes locking onto his full lips, pulled up to devastating effect.

“I- thank you.”

“You seem to be highly trained. As a rogue?”

“As whatever I am needed to be. I can fight with sword and shield, although it is not my preferred method. Twin swords give me the most maneuverability, and my bow is perfect for long range fighting.”

“Care to spar with me?” he smiled down at her. “I could use the exercise.”

“After I do your hair. Otherwise, it’ll be all sweaty later,” she wrinkled her nose.

“You don’t have to do this,” he shyly rubbed the back of his neck even as he led her to his tent.

“I don’t mind. I used to do it all the time for my guardian when I was younger, and then for Max and his brothers.” She ducked under the tent flap he held open for her, blinking to let her eyes adjust to the light. Grabbing a free chair, he placed it in the center of the room, laying his cloak off to the side.

“Your guardian? What happened to him, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“The Blight,” she replied shortly. “We lived in Ferelden back then, down by the Kocari Wilds.”

“I lost my own parents to the Blight as well. The rest of my family barely escaped Honnleath,” he murmured softly, catching her hand in his. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

“As I am for yours,” she gratefully inclined her head, gaze falling to where they were joined. “Wouldn’t you be more comfortable with your breastplate off? It can’t be comfortable to sit in that thing.”

“Ah, if you don’t mind,” he blushed. “It does rather helps to keep the smell of sweat and dirt contained.”

Aryana threw her head back and laughed, sending ripples of something through Cullen that tightened his chest and set his blood aflame. He wanted to hear more. “Commander, I grew up with four boys. One man’s smell is hardly worth noticing,” she teased.

“If you say so,” unfastening the buckles, he slipped the heavy piece over his head, the flex of his muscles just visible underneath his thin cotton shirt. She felt her mouth go dry. _Why? Max is also toned with an excellent physique, as are the rest of my brothers. They’re templars, warriors, of course they are_ , she chided herself. The scent of oakmoss and elderberries drifted up to her as he resettled himself in the chair. Swallowing the lump in her throat, she tentatively ran her fingers through his surprisingly soft hair, pulling the ends taut as she checked the length. A low moan rumbled through his throat as her fingernails lightly scraped his scalp. “Maker, that feels good.”

Her thighs tightened as he spoke, warmth coiling deep in her belly. “I’m glad,” she whispered, trying to refocus herself on her task.

“What was life like for you before you met the Trevelyans?”

“Why?” she couldn’t help the suspicion that snuck into her voice.

“Just curious.” He tilted his head up to glance up at her, Aryana pushing him back down. “The Herald mentioned that you saved his parents from bandits when you were 15? That’s quite a feat for one so young.”

“I’ve been training since I was 4,” she frowned at her hands, the constant snip snip of the scissors brushing close to his ears. 

“Four,” he breathed. “So young. Why?”

“I was being trained to fight a war that would never come to me,” she sighed. “It was a long time ago, Commander.”

“Of course, I apologize for prying.”

“No apology needed.” Stepping in front of him, she leaned over, inspecting and trimming the shorter hairs that framed his face. His eyes found hers as the back of her hands grazed his cheek, warm and soft. He wanted to- Maker’s breath. From his vantage point and the way she was bent over, he could see straight into the top of her tunic, the curves of the swell of her full breasts tantalizing in his field of vision. Cullen ached like he never had before just for one taste of her sweet skin. His hands rose unbidden, resting against her waist, Aryana’s mouth dropping open just the slightest bit. “Cullen,” she whispered.

“I…”

“Commander?” Rylen poked his head into the tent. “Oh! Lady Trevelyan. I didn’t know you were in here.”

Yanking herself back as if burned, Aryana waved at the man, trying to reign her galloping heart back under control. “Oh, no worries. I was just finishing the Commander’s hair. You could use a trim as well, Lieutenant,” she spoke too high and rushed.

“I wouldn’t want to impose, my lady,” the Starkhaven man shook his head.

“Nonsense, please. We were just finishing up.” Trying to ignore the blush that he knew Rylen could see, Cullen shook his head, running his fingers through his freshly shorn locks. 

“You have my thanks, Lady Aryana. Did you need something, Rylen?” he asked gruffly.

“Lady Montilyet wanted to see you ser, in the chantry.” Nodding at the pair of them, he pulled his armor back on, tying his mantle around his shoulders and swept out. “Uh… I didn’t interrupt anything, did I?”

“Ser Rylen, what could you have possibly interrupted?” She gave him her most winning smile. _He had been about to kiss me, I know he was._ The question was, did she want him to? _No. It would cause far too much scandal if anyone ever found out. I can’t do that to Max_. “Sit, please. Tell me about yourself. You are from Starkhaven?”

“Aye, my lady. Not much to tell, I'm afraid. I was a templar, Knight-Captain at the circle in Starkhaven. After the mess in Kirkwall, I was sent there to aid in the reconstruction efforts. That’s where I met the Commander, he was Knight-Captain of the Gallows.”

“Such a horrible name,” she shivered.

“That it is. It suited the place though. I’ve never seen a more miserable city in all my life. When Cullen joined the Inquisition, he offered me and several others a place, an offer we gladly accepted.”

“I don’t suppose you know about the other templars, do you? The ones who followed the Lord Seeker?”

“No, my lady. You’re worried about the other Trevelyan men?”

“Yes,” she sighed. “Well, I suppose we’ll find out soon enough, won’t we?”

***

Maxwell leaned against the doorframe of Aryana’s cabin, watching her clip on the last of her armor. “About the templars. Are you sure you want to come, Arya? You don’t have to,” he muttered under his breath.

“I’m worried about Brennan and Gabriel as well. I want to go.” Grabber her silverite bracers, she slid the runed metal over her slender wrists, closing them with an audible click.

“There’s just… so many templars. If anything goes wrong…”

“It won’t.”

“You can sense it when it happens, right?”

“I can. So don’t fret.”

Sensing she was done with this line of conversation, he changed the subject. “Are you seriously going to spar with the Commander?”

“He asked me to,” she shrugged. “Worried?”

“For him, yes,” he laughed. “It’ll be a good show, at least.” Shutting the door behind them, Maxwell followed his betrothed out onto the snowy path, watching a few nugs scurry back into the sparse woods. “Lady Josephine has it all set. We leave tomorrow for Therinfal Redoubt. Who knows what we’ll find.”

“Angry templars is pretty much a given.”

“It’s more than that. Something much more sinister. I don’t like it, Ri.”

“There’s not much you do like, Max, besides ale and women and sleeping,” she replied dryly, ducking his irritated swipe. The road opened out in front of them, the sounds of blunted swords clanging against each other and shouts filling the clearing. “Ready, Commander?”

Cullen craned his neck back at the voice, eyes searching her face for any signs of discomfort from his earlier blunder. Finding none, he smiled readily, showing even, white teeth. “I thought perhaps you changed your mind.”

“Maker be with you, Commander,” Maxwell intoned, bowing to the taller man. Aryana snorted beside him.

“Ignore him. I’m ready whenever you are.”

“Right,” he nodded. “Alright, men. That’s enough for today. Dismissed!” Hopping the fence, he draped his cloak across the wooden post, picking up one of the blunted swords and shield the recruits used for practice. She handed her own sword belt to the Herald, grabbing two more training blades and leapt into the ring.

“Are they doing what I think they’re doing?” Varric appeared from out of nowhere, peering into the circle. “This is going to be great.”

“I’ve got 50 silver on the woman,” a giant Qunari with an eyepatch lumbered up to them, passing the dwarf a pouch of coin. Pretty soon, Varric was swamped with a small crowd, all eager to place their own bets on the match.

“Odds are 50 to 1, in favor of the Commander,” he called out.

“I can’t believe this,” Cassandra huffed as she leaned against the fence. 

“Going to wager anything, Seeker?” Maxwell nudged her arm.

“Absolutely not,” she wrinkled her nose. 

“Varric,” he called out. “Put two sovereigns down for Aryana, in the Seeker’s name.”

“There’s a crowd gathering, Commander,” Aryana Trevelyan smiled slyly up at him, watching him roll out his shoulders. “Your defeat will be well publicized, at least.”

“Such confidence,” he smirked. “We shall see, my lady.” Taking turns lunging a couple times, testing out the other’s reflexes and reach, they circled each other all the while. He was well suited to his title, she observed. She watched as his eyes studied her movements, mapping out every hint of a weakness, how her left arm was slightly slower than her right, and the way that her right heel dragged in the sand when she parried. Cullen pounced, feinting high and swinging low, grunting as she rolled out of his path, one of her blades colliding with the back of his knee. “You’re quick.”

“So are you, surprisingly so for a templar,” she watched him warily like a hawke, searching for an opening. Using his shield as a weapon, he rushed her, swinging the metal to the side at the last second as she stepped aside, slamming into her shoulder. Aryana hissed, jerking her arm back. “Clever, Commander. Think you’ve found out all my weaknesses yet?”

“I learn fast,” he smirked. _It’s to be like that, hmm? We shall see._ Grinning to herself, she pushed off the ground, stabbing the ground with one of her swords, vaulting over his head feet first even as she twisted in mid-air. Her arms came to rest around his neck, almost like a lover’s embrace, resting one of her swords against his neck as her feet landed lightly behind him.

“Got you,” she whispered in his ears, noting the shiver than ran through his body.

“Hardly,” he scoffed. Lowering his shield, he slid one arm up between her blade and his skin, wrenching her arm down with his bracer and whirling around until her back was pressed to his chest, her arms trapped in his grip. “Now who’s got who?”

“Apologies, Commander,” she said, just as she threw her head back, a shooting pain cracking through his nose. Wincing, he felt his fingers loosen by just a fraction, giving her just the leverage she needed to free herself, dancing just out of his blurry vision. Her blades came fast and furious now, giving him no quarter, relentless as they pounded him from every angle. Gritting his teeth, he held fast against her blows, one arm raised to protect his face from her weaker attacks on the left while he parried with his own sword.

He felt his foot slip before it even happened, his knee trembling slightly where she had kicked it earlier. Aryana smiled. “Fuck,” he muttered.

Laughing, she spun around him, her foot connecting with his weakening joint despite his best effort to protect it. A grunt rumbled through his chest as he felt the ground rise up to meet him, her boot in the small of his back helping him along. The cool steel of the edges of her swords crossed above the back of his neck, scraping him gently across the sensitive skin. “Checkmate.”

“Yield.” A raucous cheer went up from the crowd, more than a fair amount of moans drowning under the applause. Giggling to herself, Aryana withdrew the blades, helping him to his feet. “You must be a master at chess.”

“I’m decent,” she grinned, wiping the sweat off her face. 

“I demand a rematch then, when you return. Play a game with me?”

“You don’t want to spar again?” she teased.

His laugh was deep and rich. “Give my dignity at least a little while to recover, please.” Taking her swords from her,, he returned them back to the rack, watching as she walked away with the Herald, Cassandra and Varric congratulating her all the while.

“What a woman,” Rylen whistled under his breath.

What a woman, indeed.


	5. Shattered Secrets

The sun was high and almost warm in the pale blue sky as she rode into Therinfal Redoubt with a serene smile on her face, nothing betraying her inner turmoil and unease at the multitudes of templars just beyond those iron gates.

“Last chance,” Maxwell muttered, drawing his horse up besides hers.

“Leave it,” she grit through her placid smile, continuing to nod at whatever Lord Abernache was rambling on about. A young and handsome templar awaited their arrival, just inside the bailey where the nobles that accompanied them immediately took up residence.

“May I present Knight-Templar Ser Delrin Barris, second son of Bann Jevrin Barris of Ferelden?” Pushing through the Orlesians, brushing the indignant lord off, the templar rushed to meet the Herald.

“I’m the one who sent word to Cullen. Is it true? That the Inquisition is working to close the Breach? The Lord Seeker has been… intrigued by this affectation of status from the lofty company that you bring. It doesn’t make sense. He has taken control of the Order, marched us here, and then makes us wait. Templars should know their duty, even when kept from it. Win over the Lord Seeker, and every knight within this keep will help the Inquisition.”

“Don’t keep you betters waiting, Barris,” Lord Abernache sneered. 

“I don’t think the Herald is distressed in the slightest over the wait, my lord,” Vivienne, the circle enchanter that had insisted that she accompany them purred.

“We’ll do our best, Ser Barris,” Maxwell grasped the other man’s shoulder. “Lead the way.” She felt the weight of the templars’ stares as they entered the courtyard, helmets obscuring their eyes but it somehow felt… heavier. Max was right. Something far more sinister than they realized was going on here. Rubbing her arms, feeling the raised hairs on her skin, she forced herself to adopt a neutral stance. “Do we really have time for this?”

“Please, Herald.” Maxwell sighed, staring at three standards on the far wall- the flags of Andraste, the Order, and the people. Shrugging to himself, he quickly turned the wheels, raising the flag of the people the highest, then Andraste, leaving the Order last. “Typically the participant of the rite explains his choices to those assembled.”

“Picked at random,” he replied blithely, Cassandra stifling a groan beside Aryana, who merely smiled. “Now where is the Lord Seeker?” Barris turned smartly on his heel, leading the Herald through a small door into a dimly lit room, leaving them to stand before an unmanned desk in the center. Aryana, Cassandra, and Vivienne filed in silently around him, watching as the few other templars gathered argued amongst themselves.

“We- Knight-Captain Denam?” Ser Barris’ head turned towards the back of the room, confusion written on his handsome face.

“You were expecting the Lord Seeker? He sent me to die for you.” Chuckling darkly at Lord Abernache’s attempt to curry favor, the Knight-Captain turned his stare on the others.

“Something’s wrong,” Cassandra muttered, the other women nodding their agreement.

“Can you feel it too? They feel… wrong,” Aryana tentatively felt the aura of the men, drawing back with an inaudible hiss as a harsh screech grated along her senses. 

“The Herald’s arrival with purpose has ruined the Lord Seeker’s plans. It sowed too much dissent. You were all supposed to be changed,” he rounded on Ser Barris, “We must purge the questioning knights!”

“Damn,” Aryana swore, reaching for her bow. 

“The Elder One is coming! No one will leave Therinfal who is not stained red!” The group watched in horror as the templars who accompanied them inside as well as Lord Abernache fell one by one, arrows dropping them all like flies. Whipping her own arrows out, Aryana quickly found the hidden archers on the second level as Cassandra and Maxwell leapt to action, Vivienne keeping to the shadows of the room, casting spells to freeze the templars to the ground, leaving them easy targets for the two warriors to finish off.

“What did he mean? The Elder One? Stained red?” Max panted, wiping the blood of his sword. “Maker, look at them.” Tossing one of the fallen templar’s helmet to the side, he pointed the red marks that crawled up his skin, like vines, or enlarged blood vessels. “Are they all sick?”

“I am… not sure,” Barris admitted. “We should find the Lord Seeker. This way.” Together, they raced through the dark halls of the keep, the meager light from the torches flickering ominously against the ancient stone. Bursting out into the main courtyard, Aryana blinked against the blinding light of the sun, then-

“Brennan!” she screamed, sprinting across the grass, reaching him just in time to knock an arrow out of the way with her bracer, wincing at the impact.

“Arya?!” Startled hazel eyes turned to her, a bloodstained sword gripped in his other hand. “Max? What are you doing here?”

“Saving your ass apparently,” he grumbled. “Get down!” Throwing up his shield, he herded them all behind a stack of crates, protecting them from the barrage of arrows that rained down upon them. “Ri, Madame Vivienne, if you would?” Nodding, the two women crept out of hiding, Aryana slipping into stealth, bringing the rooftop archers down with guttural cries, burning to their death, falling with an arrow through their neck. “Where Gabe?”

“He went into the hall with the others awhile ago. I haven’t seen him since,” Brennan wrung his hands nervously. “They took the rest of the officers in with them. Something’s going on, Max. The lyrium they’ve been giving the senior templars, it’s- it’s red. A-and it sings differently.”

“Could that explain the bodies we found?” Cassandra muttered to herself. “The Lord Seeker has lost his mind.”

“We need to find him. Bren, can you take us to the hall? Keep sharp, everyone.” The fighting was endless, templars pouring out of the woodworks to impede their progress. Aryana felt more than a few Silences tickle the back of her mind, watching Vivienne wince to her side, her magic suddenly useless.

“Stay behind me please, Madame de Fer.” Guarding the trembling mage, Aryana withdrew her swords, tossing her bow back over her shoulder. “Brennan, behind you!” Ser Barris whipped around, throwing his body over the younger man’s back, letting his chestplate take the blow. “Thank the Maker,” she muttered under her breath. “I think we’re almost there.”

“The Herald of Andraste! It’s time we became better acquainted,” an eerie voice echoed down the stairs, coming from the figure of the Lord Seeker, waiting for them at the top. Maxwell clattered up the stairs, striding up to the man, just as Lucius spun around, grabbing him by the edge of his armor and dragged him towards the door.

“Max!” Aryana screamed, reaching for him. A bright green light overwhelmed them all, forcing her to raise her hands to her eyes to protect them. Waiting for it to subside, she blinked, mouth agape as Maxwell ripped a spindly, pale demon out of the Lord Seeker’s body, throwing it back into the door, splintering the heavy wood into broken shards. His eyes were haunted as he frantically searched around him, breathing a sigh of relief when he spotted his brother standing next to her. 

“You’re okay,” he breathed, grabbing their hands. “I saw… never mind. Envy has taken over the Lord Seeker,” speaking to the others, he motioned for them to follow him further into the hall, heading towards the back where the demon fled, locked behind a glowing barrier.

“It used the red lyrium to corrupt the Order, didn’t it?” Barris sighed wearily. “Our commanders used it first, to prove it was harmless. The knights would have been next.” Aryana’s hand tightened on Brennan’s at the thought of it. “That demon turned our leaders so we couldn’t question when this started!”

“Are you going to keep blaming yourself? Or help me end this?” Maxwell’s stormy gray eyes bored into Barris’.

“We need our veterans. The commanders may have turned, but the lieutenants may still be fighting.”

“Gabriel,” Brennan whispered to his sister.

“Find them, and our uncorrupted lyrium stores. We will hold the hall until you return. Then, I will give you Envy.”

“Maker be with you,” Maxwell nodded. “Brennan, are you staying here? Okay. You lot, let’s take this side first.” The templars that rushed them now were so twisted and warped, calling them human would be a vast stretch of the imagination. Giant shards of red crystal had ripped through their skin and armor, faces twisted into snarling, animalistic sneers. “Fuck,” he breathed. “Is this what the red lyrium does to them?”

“How can they do this to themselves,” Aryana whispered, staring down into sightless eyes, watching as Vivienne burned the remains. “We need to check all the rooms for the lyrium.” Walking down the balcony, she pushed open the first door she came to, stopping short as she placed a single foot inside. “Is- is that blood up there?”

“Creepy,” Maxwell studied the eyes painted in red along the walls of the room, heading towards the table in the center, littered with books and candles. His arm reached for a piece of parchment, pinned onto a bust of Empress Celene of Orlais, and froze. “Cole?”

“Who is Cole?” Vivienne walked around the edge of the room, delicately lifting a heavy key. “Are you alright, my dear?”

“No one else saw him?”

“Saw who, Max? What’s wrong?” Aryana frowned, stepping towards him.

“Uh, nothing,” he mumbled. “Tell you later, after I stop going crazy.”

“An assassination plot against the Empress,” Cassandra scanned the parchment she took from the Herald’s limp fingers, gasping in dismay. “We must tell the others about this as soon as we return.” Turning her head to the door, she jogged outside calling over her shoulder, “I hear fighting!”

Racing after the Seeker, Maxwell spotted him first. “Gabriel!”

“Little brother! You’re late,” the eldest Trevelyan brother grunted, fending off three of the twisted red monstrosities that used to be his brethren.

“To be fair, no one ever gave me a timetable,” the Herald grumbled, shoving one of the horrors back with his shield.

“Excuses, Maximilian. Arya, you’re here too? Chasing after this ingrate, I presume?”

“What else would I be doing?” she smiled, digging her blades into the back of a stumbling templar. “Are you okay?”

“Well enough,” he sighed, looking around at the carnage. “Andraste preserve me, look at this mess. The Order is ruined.”

“The rest of the sane templars are in the hall, guarding against the endless flow of demons. An envy demon had taken control of the Lord Seeker’s form, Gabe. You were all duped.”

“An envy demon?” Gray eyes just a shade lighter than his younger brother’s widened. “Maker. I… I’ll go join them. Ser Christophe should be around here somewhere, if you can find him. And Ser Pieter. Maker go with you all.”

Temporary relief washed over Aryana, knowing that her other two brothers had not been tainted like the others. “We all may yet get out of this alive. We need to hurry.”

“Right. Let’s go.”

***

This battle was not going well. Maxwell grunted as yet another wave of templars flooded into the yard, Envy leaping back to hide amongst the shadows. “Ri! I need you!”

“Max…” she warned, throwing her empty quiver and now useless bow to the side.

“Fuck, Arya! Do you not see this shit? We’re going to die if you don’t-” The envy demon sprung out of the ground in front of him, backhanding him across the courtyard, his back crashing into a stone pillar with a loud crack.

“Max!” Aryana screamed. Eyes filled with panic wildly swung about, taking in the desperate scene across the broken yard- Cassandra engaged with three other of the strangely glowing templars. Vivienne, gasping for air behind her, relying on her staff to keep her upright, her magic completely useless under the Purge that had been cast a few minutes earlier. “Fuck,” she hissed, pushing herself upright, watching as two of the twisted, mangled horrors lumbered towards the helpless mage, giant claws reaching. “Fine.” Taking a deep breath, reaching for that flickering flame inside of her, she pulled. Energy exploded from her hands as light swirled around her, drawing strength from the sun itself. _It’s been so long..._

“Another mage!” Came the shout from the red templars. Aryana didn’t flinch as she felt the telltale tingle of their Silence tickling the back of her awareness. Using her powers, she grabbed ahold of the one of the columns, cracking them into pieces taller than a full grown man, and hurtled them at the enemy, crushing them beneath the weight. The envy demon reared up to its full height, now realizing she was the true threat. Trapping the other horrors in a columns of fire and wind, she turned to face the demon.

Sheathing her swords in a bright, burning flame, she lunged at the demon, snarling as she swung at one of its gangly limbs. A claw narrowly missed her abdomen, her body arching away at the last possible section. Drawing her limbs in, she spun to the side, throwing one arm out, fire arcing from her hands in sinuous waves, tangling around the demon’s writhing body. Her teeth gritted in determination, calling down lightning from the sky, paralyzing the creature as it fell to the ground, unable to even scream in pain. Cautiously, she advanced, feeling the dry heat from the fire bathing her in its warm light, soot staining her skin, swords dangling loosely in her grip. “It ends here, Envy.” With a mighty swing, she impaled the monster through its chest, pinning it in place as she sliced through its neck with her other blade, panting over the broken, charred body. “Max!”

Whirling around, she raced over to where he had fallen, weakly coughing up blood. “Sorry I made you cast,” he wheezed.

“Hush. You didn’t make me do anything,” she murmured. “Now hold still.” Holding the wind around her, she felt for the gentle pulse of the earth, gently pulling its energy towards his broken body, humming under her breath as she healed him completely from the inside out. “There. Good as new.” Patting him on the head, she stood up, heading towards Cassandra. “Seek-” She flinched back from the tip of the sword aimed at her throat.

“What. Are. You.”

“She’s an abomination,” Vivienne coughed, pushing herself upright. “I felt the Purge. But her magic never faltered. What deal have you made with the demons?”

“None,” Aryana sighed. She knew this would happen. This was what Kadir had warned her about. Why she had to stay away from the templars. Not because they would take her to a Circle. But because they would realize she was not like the other mages, and they would kill her. Under normal circumstances, she could have ceased her magic the instant the Silence struck, pretending to be just a regular, Fade-connected mage. But these were anything but normal circumstances.

“She’s not an abomination!” Maxwell rushed over as fast as he could, still weak and dizzy from blood loss. “Let her explain.”

“I am, aren’t I?” the Seeker replied shortly.

“I am Hikari. I am not a mage. My powers do not come from the Fade,” Aryana replied calmly, keeping her hands up in the air.

“That is nonsense,” Vivienne frowned. “Impossible. I have never heard of such a thing.”

“I am quite sure there are many things in this world that you have never heard of, Enchanter,” she replied acidly.

Cassandra frowned. “You there! Chain her. We will bring her back to Haven. The others can decide her fate.”

“You will not chain her! Disregard that!” Maxwell bellowed at the templars who were hesitantly approaching, freezing them in their steps.

“You are not in charge, Herald,” she snapped. “Secure her, now!”

“Do you really thinks mere chains or ropes can hold her?”

“Maxwell,” Aryana hissed, “Not helping.”

“What is going on?” Gabriel descended the stairs down into the yard, taking in the scene with more than a little confusion.

“Did you know as well, Knight-Captain? That your sister is some kind of abomination mage hybrid?” Vivienne asked archly.

“What? No, she’s not,” he frowned. “Max, what is this?”

The Herald sighed, rubbing his forehead. “He didn’t know. None of the others knew. Just me.”

“Let them take me back to Haven, Max. It’ll be fine.”

“Not in chains.”

“Herald-”

“It makes them feel better,” she murmured softly. “Let them do as they will.”

“Fine,” he snapped bitterly. “Don’t think I will forget this, Seeker.” Holding her wrists behind her back for the templars to tie, she watched as her fiancé stomped up the stairs, glowering at the others assembled. “I should just disband all of you.”

“Our honor is yours to do with as you will,” Barris knelt before him. “We let this happen. Our officers either failed to see it or were complicit. Herald of Andraste, we are leaderless, gutted by betrayal. Whatever you decide, we must have time to rebuild.”

“Time? You know why we came in the first place,” his voice rang out against the shattered stones, still suffused with anger and frustration. “The Inquisition needs your help to seal the Breach. That is our priority. The Order is an old, respected institution that the people respect. That cannot die today. Join us in an alliance. We will shelter you, give you time and a safe place in which to regroup in exchange for your aid.”

“The templars will come, Herald,” Barris bowed. “I hope your stronghold is ready.”

“Thank you, brother,” Gabriel clapped him on his shoulder as the other templars moved away. Scowling, Maxwell shrugged his hand off.

“Don’t thank me. I would’ve thrown the lot of them out. Hell, maybe I should have disbanded the entire Order.”

“You couldn’t-”

“If she suffers at all for what has happened here, I could. And I would.”

“What is she, Max?” He glanced over to where Aryana leaned against the wall, head tilted up to the sky, eyes closed.

“That is her story to tell, not mine. We need to get back to Haven. Fast.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> dun, dun, DUUUUUUN.


	6. The Last Hikari

Cullen looked up as the gate guards called out the arrival of an approaching party. The Herald was finally returning from Therinfal, having successfully allied with the templars. He could finally breathe a sigh of relief. Eyes scanning the horses at the front, he frowned when he did not see her figure among the riders.

“Rylen, take over.” Without waiting for a response, Cullen quickly crossed the snow covered field. “Herald-”

“Untie her at least here, Seeker. Don’t parade her through the town like a common criminal!” His eyes widened at the sight of Lady Trevelyan, Cassandra hauling her bound figure down from the back of a wagon.

“What is the meaning of this?”

“Guards!” the Seeker shouted in a clipped voice. “Take her to the dungeons. Set no less than ten men around her cell until I return.” Blowing a strand of loose hair from her face, Aryana refused to meet Cullen’s surprise, offering a tentative smile to the Herald instead as she was led away. He could hear the whispers of the townfolk from here, gawking at the sight of the Herald’s fianceé in chains. “Commander, we have much to discuss.”

“Apparently,” he breathed. “Herald?”

Face a dark glower, Maxwell ignored the question and pushed past them all, barking behind him, “Gabriel! Brennan. Come with me.” Those must be his brothers, Cullen thought. The younger had hazel eyes instead of the gray of his elder siblings, and the eldest had black hair as opposed to the dark brown of the other two, but enough of their face was the same to indicate their heritage. Silently, he filed in behind them, glancing only once at the Seeker’s grim expression. “Nightingale!” snapping as they passed the spymaster’s tent, her perplexed pale face peering out, Maxwell motioned for her to follow as he stomped down into the dungeons.

No one said anything as they waited for Josephine to arrive, Aryana sitting primly on the cold, albeit clean stone floor, knees tucked under herself, hands still bound behind her back. “We are all here? Good. Leave us,” Cassandra waved off the guards. “Would you like to tell the story Herald, or will I?”

“This is fucking bullshit, Seeker. She saved our lives-”

“Precisely why she is here, and not lying dead back at Therinfal. This- woman,” she spat the word as if it left a bad taste in her mouth, “Is a mage of some sort. But she used magic unlike anything I have ever seen. And a Silence, followed by a Purge did nothing to her powers.”

“She’s immune to the templars’ abilities?” Cullen blanched.

“Yes,” the Seeker nodded emphatically.

“We were surrounded,” Maxwell growled. “It was a lost situation. Vivienne was helpless without her magic, I had several broken ribs and a punctured lung, and the Seeker was cornered. Aryana did what she had to do to save us all. She is _not_ an abomination.”

“Then what is she?”

“Stop, please,” Josephine raised a slim hand to her brow, rubbing her temples. “Perhaps a demonstration? Lady Trevelyan, if you would?”

Aryana blinked at the Antivan. “I could just cancel my spell when I feel the Silence.”

“You could,” she agreed amicably. “But I trust you won’t.” 

“I need my hands, please.”

“You cannot cast while bound?” Leliana cocked her head to one side.

“I can, but it’s safer this way. I can control my magic better with my hands free. I’m not going to go on a killing rampage,” she sighed. Stepping into the cell, the former bard withdrew a key, tugging the heavy manacles off her slender, bruised wrists. “You have my thanks.” Aryana held out a hand, focusing as a tiny flame sparked into existence, dancing along her palm. Cullen stared; he could feel no telltale prickle of mana or pull on the Fade. “Commander, if you will?”

It was harder to use his abilities without lyrium in his system, but still possible. With more than a little effort, Cullen pushed his power out in front of him, the Purge blanketing the entire room. Her fire never even wavered. “Maker’s breath, that’s… Cassandra, you try.” He felt the other woman’s Silence on the edge of his senses, shaking his head in amazement and fear when the fire still did not falter. _A mage that cannot be Silenced. A mage that cannot be controlled_. “What are you?”

Her bright, lyrium blue eyes rose to meet his, a shadow falling over her face as she saw the fear within. Fear, suspicion, and hatred. “It is a story no one in Thedas knows, save Maxwell. And he has been sworn to secrecy over the matter, never once betraying my trust. If I tell you, can I expect the same loyalty?”

Leliana frowned. “Will this knowledge put the Inquisition in danger?”

“Besides the obvious threat she poses as an untamable mage?” Cullen grumbled under his breath.

“I am not some animal to call to heel, Commander,” Aryana snapped, fire flashing in her eyes. “I have no reason to believe that the Inquisition will be affected one way or the other. I shall ask again. Will you keep my secret?”

“I will,” Sister Nightingale nodded, the rest of the advisors and her other brothers following suit.

Exhaling a long, deep breath, she closed her eyes. “I am not from Thedas. Your world ends at the Boeric Ocean. There are lands beyond that, far to the north. It takes months to reach by ship.”

“Impossible,” Cassandra shook her head.

“There are tales of places beyond the edge of our maps,” Josephine dissented. “Most are dismissed as legends, but they might be true.”

“Erythaea. It was a country of lush, verdant green hills. Our farmland was fertile, the flowers bloomed freely, and the ocean was warm and sweet,” her voice turned soft and wistful. “Life was peaceful for my family and I. Until he came. _Nikharu_ ," she snarled. "He wanted the throne for himself. The Hikari were betrayed, slain, one by one. Until I was the only one left. But I was a child at the time. What could I have possibly done? A friend of my father smuggled me out, taking to the Cerulan Sea by ship. I’m not sure how long we were onboard. At the time, it seemed like forever. There was… a storm when we got close to land. Our ship floundered, and sank. I survived, as did my guardian and a handful of others. The rest perished. The ocean was so cold,” she whispered, squeezing her eyes closed against the memory. Clearing her throat, she continued, “We washed ashore somewhere in Tevinter, heading south, as far south as we could manage, spending some time in Antiva, the Free Marches, and Orlais, before eventually settling on the edge of the Kocari Wilds, in Ferelden. There, I stayed until I was 14, in the year 30.”

“The Blight,” Leliana murmured. “It came from the Wilds.”

“It did. My guardian was a skilled warrior, as was I, but… we didn’t know,” she muttered hoarsely. “We didn’t know about the Taint. Kadir was infected. He lived just long enough to take me to Denerim, putting me on a ship to Kirkwall. They weren’t letting anyone into the city. There were too many refugees. So I wandered along the coast, taking odd jobs as a sellsword to feed myself, stealing or starving when I couldn’t. A year later, I stumbled across a noble couple, surrounded by bandits, their guards dead around them. I killed the brigands. In thanks, they took me in.”

“Mother and Father,” Brennan murmured.

“Yes.”

“That doesn’t explain your abilities,” Cullen crossed his arms. “You said you were… Ikora?”

“Hikari. There are only ever about twenty of us at once at any given point in history. We are the guardians of Erythaea, gifted by the gods with the power of the Saeavii, our pantheon. We have regular mages as well, that live amongst our citizens. The Hikari are the ones who protect.”

“You are some sort of mage templars?” Gabriel asked.

“If you want to look at it that way? Our powers far supercede that of the Fade mages. We do not nullify spells, but we do have magic that can contain them, should a need for it arise. I draw my power from the world around me. Fire from the sun, wind from the air, water and ice from the water, healing and telekinesis from nature. So no, I cannot be cut off from the source of my magic. But I am well trained. The chances of me losing control are almost none. And there is no risk of me turning into an abomination. I cannot be possessed.”

“Almost,” Cassandra raised an eyebrow just as Josephine asked, “Telekinesis?”

“Yes,” Aryana agreed pleasantly. “About the same chance as you going mad and running everyone here through with your sword. There is a chance, but the probability of that happening is so low, it is ridiculous to even consider. Telekinesis is… controlling other items with my mind alone. Small things, usually, although I can manipulate larger items with enough concentration or motivation.” 

“Controlling people?” Cullen took an inadvertent step backwards. 

She shook her head exasperatedly. “No, Commander. Things.” Holding a hand out, she lifted the ambassador’s quill from her stunned fingers, floating it through the air before returning it to the writing board. “I’ve seen other Fade-bound mages do this before, it’s not a trait unique to me. Although my abilities have more finesse.”

“I see. What should we do?” turning to the others, the Seeker crossed her arms, brow creased.

“What do you mean, what should you do?” Maxwell asked incredulously. “Let her go! She’s done nothing wrong besides help.”

“And what will we tell the others who saw her cast?”

“No one else knows she was immune to the Silence. Let them think she’s just an apostate.”

“Her magic-”

“She’s smart enough to rein in the more unusual aspects of her casting, Sister Nightingale. She’s survived this long on her own.”

“And if we let you go? What will you do?”

“Run naked through the village while screaming blasphemies against the Maker’s name obviously,” she responded dryly, all three Trevelyan brothers snorting, Gabriel the only one trying to hide his grin.

“Let her go, or I swear I will walk away from the Inquisition.” Maxwell stared down his advisors, eyes dark in the dim light of the dungeons.

“You would let the entirety of Thedas fall for her?” Cullen spluttered.

“She’s always been there for me. I would be a horrible brother fiancé thing," he threw up his hands in exasperation, "if I did not return the favor.”

“If any harm befalls anyone because of her, it will be on your head, Herald,” Cassandra warned.

“Fine.”

“That’s new,” Gabriel chuckled. “You being responsible for her instead of the other way around.”

“Right?” Maxwell grinned, ignoring his advisors as he pulled Aryana to his side. “Who’s hungry?”

“Herald, we still have to debrief over what happened at Therinfal.”

“Later,” he snapped. “First, I need to see to my fianceé. Everything else can wait.”

“I feel so special,” she smiled wearily up at him, resting her head on his shoulder as they walked back up into the chantry proper. 

“I can’t believe they did that to you.”

“I can’t believe neither of you told us about all of that,” Gabriel frowned at the pair. “Why?”

“I didn’t even want to tell Max,” she answered ruefully, squinting as they stepped out into the bright sunlight. “He caught me casting one day out in the woods, when we were twenty or so, and tried to Silence me. I had to wrestle him to the ground and tie him to a tree to keep him from running to your father. I mean, you’re all templars, for Andraste’s sake. I wasn’t sure how the rest of your family would react.”

“I don’t think Father or Mother would take it particularly well,” the eldest sighed. “But it doesn’t bother me. You would’ve hated the circles anyways. Bren?”

“Doesn’t bother me either,” he shrugged, wrapping his arm around her waist. “I’m glad they didn’t do anything to you.”

“Beside drag her through the village in chains,” Maxwell scowled at a nearby cluster of whispering women, the sight of the Herald's stormy expression sending them scurrying away. “The gossips are going to be relentless.”

“What care do I have for that?” Pushing open the door to the tavern, she found an empty table in the corner, selecting the seat closest to the wall. “People will talk, no matter what. Hello, Varric,” she glanced up at the pair approaching, a ragged elf in bright yellow plaidweave trailing behind the dwarf.

“Sera,” the Herald nodded at the elven woman. “This is Aryana Trevelyan.”

“Your fiancé, right? What was surly britches doin’, draggin’ her to the chantry like that?”

“Bit of a misunderstanding, that’s all,” he shrugged, gratefully accepting the mug of ale the barmaid set down in front of you. “Ah, bless you, mistress. Everything’s alright now.”

“You sure? The rest of the advisors still looked pretty ticked last I saw,” Varric scratched his chin.

“They’re just mad because their Herald is in here drinking, instead of doing his job,” Aryana smirked.

“And you’re not going to make him go?”

“What for?” She raised a dark eyebrow. “He’s a grown man, he can do as he wishes.”

“You’re my favorite,” Maxwell sighed happily, taking a long, deep draught from his mug.

“That is literally the exact opposite of everything you said before,” Varric chuckled, Gabriel and Brennan nodding vehemently in agreement.

“Perhaps I am just being a typical female and changing my mind,” she replied loftily, raising her wine glass to her lips. 

“So what happens now?” Brennan asked as the two others wandered away.

“Now… We seal the Breach. The templars can help suppress the magic, enough so I can close it with this.” Holding up his hand, they all stared into the crackling, sickly green energy that pulsed from a jagged wound.

“Does it hurt?” Gabriel tentatively poked the skin around the mark, pulling back at his brother’s slight wince.

“Like a bitch. But I can manage.”

“Closing the Breach. Is it going to be dangerous for you?” Maxwell ruffled his younger brother’s tousled hair, to the latter’s annoyance.

“Everything is dangerous now, Bren. This is just another one of those things.”

“You know, if you die, Arya will kill you.”

“That may be the only reason why I am absolutely determined to not die.”

*** 

He saw her standing by the lake that night, silhouetted against the light of the full moons, hair unbound and ruffling gently in the wind. The breeze carried her scent of lemons and spice to him, enveloping his senses in a warm embrace.

“I wanted to apologize, Lady Aryana.” She gave no indication that she heard him, her back still turned to the village gates, eyes focused on the distant frozen shore. “What I said earlier today, I… I am trying not to be the person I was. What I said to you earlier was unforgivable and unworthy of me.”

For the longest time, he wondered if she had heard him, her spine still straight, her body unmoving. The wind rustled through the snow covered pine trees that surrounded Haven. An owl hooted into the night air. Somewhere far in the distance, a wolf howled and a mountain lion screamed its warning. The muffled sounds of the village, settling in for the night, was just barely audible behind them. _Perhaps I should go. She’s probably still upset with me. I can’t blame her_ , he sighed to himself. Boots crunching in the snow, he turned to leave.

“What happened?”

“Pardon?”

“I have found that there are several types of templars,” she mused thoughtfully. Slowly, he approached her from the side, able to see the profile of her face as she gazed up towards the stars. “There are those who take delight in dominating the mages, seeing them as lesser beings, fit only to be used as their discretion. Those who devoted to their cause, upholding what they believe to be the Maker’s will, guarding their charges carefully and with respect. Templars who sympathize with the mages’ plight, although those are far and few between. And templars who truly hate and fear magic. I saw the latter today. When you looked at me.” Her brow wrinkled as she replayed the memory in her head. “Why?”

“I…” How much should he tell her? Maker, what would she think of him? All of the things he did after Kinloch, in the name of his fear? Why did he even want to tell her?

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have pried,” she murmured softly. “You don’t owe me a thing, Commander. Have a good night.”

“Wait!” His hand wrapped around her wrist as she turned away, holding her back. For a heartbeat, neither of them breathed, their eyes locked on each other. “I want to tell you. It’s just… difficult. I haven’t really ever told anyone that didn’t already know.” Drawing her in until she was a mere handspan away from him, Cullen forced his hands down to his side. “I was a templar, stationed at Kinloch Hold, the Circle of Magi in Ferelden as a young man. During the Blight, the Circle was taken over by- by blood mages. They tortured and killed so many, myself included. Abominations were everywhere. It was-” His eyes closed, a thin sheen of sweat spreading over his forehead. Cool fingers wrapped around his, squeezing him comfortingly.

“I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to make you relive it.”

“You didn’t,” he shook his head, jerking his eyes open. “I relive it every night, regardless. I am not proud of the man I became after that incident. I saw demons and corruption lurking within every mage. And Kirkwall did nothing to help free me of my misperceptions. It wasn’t until my Knight-Commander fell to the madness of her own prejudices that I could see my own clearly,” he finished bitterly. “I swore to not be that man any longer. Today, I was. I will do better. You have my word.”

“Cullen.” She stepped closer to him, so close he could see the golden flecks in her bright eyes. “It’s understandable, given what you went through. But thank you, for the apology. And for trusting me.”

“I do trust you,” he murmured. “Why? I barely know you. You’re not even Thedosian, and yet, I want…” Branches rustled directly to his left, grounding him back to the present. He was about to kiss the Herald of Andraste’s betrothed, in full view of the village gates. And she-

She was going to let him.

“I, uh, should get back to my work,” rubbing his neck, he was thankful the darkness hid his bright red face, averting his gaze from her piercing stare.

“Of course, Commander.” The mask of the noble was back firmly in place across her elegant features. But for a moment, he had seen her, wide eyed and vulnerable, waiting for his touch. He needed to stay away. He needed-

“Would you mind helping train the troops some more tomorrow? Unless you have other things to do, of course,” the words tumbled out against his will in a rush. _That is the exact opposite of what you should do, Rutherford, he groaned to himself. Keep her away, not dangle her in front of you in plain view of your men._

“I wouldn’t mind at all.”

“Tomorrow, then,” stepping back, he bowed properly over her hand, and let her go..

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hikari is Japanese for light, in case anyone was curious. In my head, I picture Erythaea to be a sort of Indian/Middle Eastern/Eastern Asian hybrid country.


	7. First Impressions

Lady Aryana Trevelyan quickly became a permanent fixture in his life, his constant companion along with Rylen when he was on the training field. It helped immensely to have another sharp eye, and it showed in the leaps and bounds by which his recruits progressed. Also, it didn’t hurt that they wanted to impress the beautiful woman, keeping their focus sharp on their work, dropping their equipment less, keeping their stances firm. 

Warily, he watched as the Seeker approached the training grounds. Things had been understandably tense the past few days between the two women, but he saw how Cassandra begrudgingly admired the woman’s skills. In many ways, they were much alike- determined, sharp, and not given to much emotional distress, preferring to use their mind to think things through. But that was where the similarities ended. Aryana was a noble in her demeanor, through and through. Her rapier wit and charm were as much a weapon as her swords. Cullen had been able to get to know her a bit more in the days since the night on the lake, stolen conversations between drills and exercise. It was all too easy to relax around her, and he found himself confiding in her more than he had with any other person in years. Due to her neutral and largely military upbringing, she brought a fresh perspective to many topics, such as a the mage-templar conflict, or the Perendale War, the Divine Amara’s edict in the Towers Age to strike the Canticle of Silence from the Chant, or the more recent Ferelden Rebellion. 

Breathing a sigh of relief, he watched as Cassandra bypassed the sparring ring entirely, heading to the opposite end of the field to practice on the straw dummies set up there. Along with Aryana, the Herald and his two brothers took up the circle, Maxwell and his elder brother currently honing their skills while the others watched, casually leaning against the rough railing. Watching the templar trained men was comforting to him, familiar to see the blocks and ripostes that he himself used. Having all his former brethren around was a bit like coming home… yet not. With so many templars in Haven, the amount of lyrium flowing into the village was exponential in growth. The song was everywhere, locked in a chest in the chantry, flowing in the blood of the men and women around him. Concentration often eluded him, his headaches increased in intensity, and his nightmares, Maker, his nightmares. People were starting to notice. She, of course, had already asked him about his sleep at the first sight of his dark circles.

Aryana glanced up at the sound of his boots, offering him a lopsided smile. The noblewoman was always so much more relaxed around her brothers, and it made his heart warm to see her so. If he was being truly honest with himself, Cullen enjoyed the Trevelyan brothers’ company immensely. Their love and affection for one another shone from behind their constant bickering and banter, reminiscent of his own siblings, far away in South Reach.

“Commander,” the youngest, Brennan called, “Come to watch the Herald eat snow?”

“Ha! Like I’d ever lose to an oaf like Gabriel,” Maxwell shouted back.

Aryana shook her head. “But you have already. Multiple times.” It was actually rather hard to tell who was winning at this point. Both men were covered in mud and snow, bits of grass and twigs sticking out from various nooks and crannies of their plate armor.

“You should spar with Gabe next,” Brenna suggested. “Wonder if he still gets as mad when you beat him. Remember the first time you trounced him?”

Chuckling, she leaned back a bit, arms lightly resting on the post. “I do. He didn’t talk to me for two weeks, that’s how distraught he was at being beat by a younger girl.”

“You’re all very close, aren’t you?” Cullen grinned as Maxwell successfully tripped his brother up, his jubilant shout of victory cut short as the fallen Gabriel swiped at his leg, sending the Herald backwards into the ground.

“We weren’t always. It was definitely an adjustment period at first,” she commented. “Maxwell in particular disliked me. He put frogs in my dresser, crickets in my boots, and mud between my sheets for months. His parents had to come up with increasingly inventive punishments for him, but the rapscallion was so good at being sneaky, he rarely got caught. But Richard, the youngest of them, was a notorious tattletale.”

With a fond smile, she recalled those first few months at the Trevelyan’s estate. The picture of her standing there in her worn and tattered armor, ramrod straight in their gravel drive as the boys piled out of the front entrance to greet their parents was as clear in her mind now as it was ten years ago.

“Papa, who’s that?”

“This is Aryana. She’s going to be staying with us for awhile.”

Their response had not been very enthusiastic at all, but Gabriel, at least, had enough control over his manners at 18 years old to offer her a proper greeting. The rest of the boys quickly followed suit after a sharp hiss from their mother.

Servants had rushed her inside then, offering her the first hot bath she had taken in over a year, trying not to be unnerved by the silent, impassive, grim faced adolescent who had yet to show any form of emotion. Dressed in the only gown that had fit her, belonging to one of the maids, she had been guided to the Bann’s study, sitting primly in the chair offered to her.

“Do you have a family name, child?”

“No, my lord.”

“None at all?” Lady Trevelyan had been shocked by this. It was clear the girl was of the nobility by the way she sat, spoke, and took her tea. Surely someone out there was missing her dearly.

“I had a name, once. It has since been lost to me.”

“You have no one? No family, distant relatives?”

“There is no one left alive that would remember me.” Her young voice had dropped to a whisper, the icy mask she had worn so well breaking for an instant as pain shone through her bright blue eyes.

The nobles had shared a look at that. “You know, I always wanted a daughter, but the Maker saw fit to only grace me with four, unruly boys,” the lady smiled. “If I had a girl, I would imagine she would be a lot like you. Graceful, independent, polite, even tempered. Perhaps He had a hand in sending you to our aid today?”

“And an excellent warrior to boot.” Bann Trevelyan nodded his approval of his wife’s idea. “Aryana, how would you like to stay here? With us, as part of our family?”

Eyes widening, the young girl stared, unwilling to even breathe. “You would do this? For a stranger?”

“You risked your life to save ours, also strangers,” he pointed out. “The least we could do is return the favor. You have no name of your own. So I would offer you ours. Would you like to be a Trevelyan, Aryana?”

She had accepted, most graciously. How could she not? A six year old Richard had been thrilled to gain a new sister, following her around like a devoted duckling for the next several weeks, hanging on her every word. Brennan did whatever Gabriel did and grudgingly accepted her into the household, being unerringly polite. Maxwell was the odd brother out. He teased her relentlessly, played an endless stream of pranks on his new sister, and generally made her life a living hell. Until one day.

It had been raining for the better part of a week, and tensions were high throughout the mansion as all the boys had been trapped inside for days, slowly losing their minds. Aryana and Gabriel were outside in the barn, staying by the side of one of the family’s prized mares as the creature labored to bring her first foal into the world. Night had fallen by the time the gangly newborn finally emerged, both of the humans thoroughly exhausted by the arduous task.

“Go ahead and go inside, Gabriel. I’ll stay a bit and help clean up.”

“Are you sure?” A massive yawn chose that moment to widen his jaw, his eyes blinking blearily down at her.

“You’ve been out here longer than I. I don’t mind.”

“Thanks, Arya,” he sighed, stumbling through the rain up the path to the house.

It had taken a little less than an hour to get the new mother settled and fresh hay brought into her stall. Working with the horses had been her favorite pastime since arriving here, and the Trevelyans were more than willing to indulge her new obsession. Some of the finest stock in the Marches came from their stables.

Wearily, she had said her goodnights to the few remaining staff, and ducked out into the darkness. Only to get hit in the back with a ball of sticky mud. Aryana didn’t even need to turn around to know who it was.

“MAXWELL!”

His cackle had echoed through the air, his footsteps quickly receding as he beat a hasty retreat. On a normal night, she would have left him alone. Walked back into the house without saying a word. And just ignored him. But that night? She was exhausted, covered in mud, blood, birthing fluids, and bits of hay. And so she snapped. He may have been fast, but she was quicker and infinitely more agile. Ducking the numerous roots and low branches in her way, it was only a matter of time before she caught up with him.

“What is your problem?!” Tackling him to the ground, they wrestled in the soaking grass, vying for the upper hand. Maxwell was much larger than her, with at least 50 lbs of muscle more, but she had the benefit of years of additional, brutal training. Plus, adrenaline and her fury. Wrenching his arms behind his back, she shoved his face into the mud. “Why do you hate me so much?”

“Right, like I’m gonna tell you,” he sneered. A well timed jerk and twist of his elbow quickly changed his mind. “That hurts!”

“Tell me,” she gritted out.

“Little miss perfect,” Maxwell spat, “Poor little orphan girl and yet you’re already a better noble, a better child to my parents than I am. Did you come here just to show me up, huh? Make me look like even more of a failure than I already am?”

Stunned, she had released him, sitting back sharply against the rough bark of a tree, the broad leaves providing slight shelter from the rain. “You think I came here to… show you up?”

He groaned, wincing and rubbing his shoulders. “Why else would you have come here?”

“Maybe because I had nowhere else to go?” Her voice was harsh and bitter. “Because everyone I ever knew was killed when I was a child, and my guardian by the Blight? Because I’m tired of fighting just to survive, sleeping on the ground, and stealing just to survive? Do you even know what it’s like to not know where your next meal will come from? Or if you’ll even eat that day? Or the next?” The look she had given him then at his shamed face was filled with pure contempt. “No, you don’t. Your parents extended a kindness to me, one I would have been remiss to refuse. But have no fear, Lord Trevelyan, I am well aware I am not their child. You are. If you feel any insecurity from a poor little orphan, you should look within yourself and figure out why.”

Wincing, he felt her scathing words pierce his skin. “You’re right,” he had muttered. “It’s just been so hard, with Gabriel and Brennan being the perfect sons they are, and Richard is the baby and can do no wrong, and then you come along, and it just feels like another nail in my coffin.”

“I highly doubt your parents are going to kick you out, Maxwell,” she replied dryly.

He snorted. “You never know.” Together, they sat in silence a few minutes more, listening to the sound of the raindrops falling through the canopy above. Lightning flashed somewhere in the distance. Raising his eyes, he smiled, tentative and hopeful. “Truce?”

“No more frogs?” Aryana had asked skeptically.

“No more pranks,” he promised.

They had pretty much been inseparable after that, even more so after he found out her secret. In fact, their closeness and affection for one another had been misconstrued as romantic love by his parents. So by the time Gabriel had renounced his claim to being heir, their mother had already resolved to marry Maxwell and Aryana, refusing to listen to their protests. “Don’t try to lie to me,” she had chided. “I can see for myself plainly what’s going on here. You both will thank me later. It’s not often that people of our station are allowed to marry for love.”

So distraught had Maxwell been, that he had stolen his father’s invitation to the Divine’s conclave, using that as an excuse to travel south to Ferelden, intent on putting as much distance between himself and Aryana as possible.

And now, here they were.

In Haven. Part of the Inquisition. Watching two grown men that were now sprawled out across the ground, gasping for breath, their dulled swords flung uselessly down beyond their reach.

“I totally won that round.”

“Are you blind as well as stupid?”

“Just admit it. It’ll make you feel better.”

Laughing softly at the pair, she turned towards the Commander at her side. Her smile instantly faded as she caught the intent look on his face, watching her as if she were a curiosity he would greatly like to study. “Commander?”

He jumped. Flushing a bright red, he swung his gaze away, rubbing his neck in an attempt to avert his gaze. “Sorry, I was just… thinking. You and your brothers greatly remind me of my own siblings. It’s been a long time since I’ve seen them. Or even written to them.”

“I’m sure they would understand. You’re a very busy man. Can you at least write a letter? That would probably be greatly appreciated.”

“You’re right. I’ll try to write them after we assault the Breach.”

“She’s always right,” Maxwell scoffed, flinging bits of grass and mud off of his armor as he limped up to them. “Better get used to it now, Commander. So, tomorrow’s the big day, hmm?”

Several sets of eyes rose upwards, staring at the giant swirling vortex in the sky that had dominated the skyscape these past several weeks. It would be hard to imagine the world without that sickly green tainting the light. “The templars are prepared and ready. The army is… as good as they’re going to get for now,” Cullen admitted ruefully. “This is our best chance.”

“No pressure,” the Herald groaned, lifting his mark up. Aryana knew it had been flaring up more the past few days, almost as if the Breach knew its end was approaching and it was determined to cause as much mayhem as possible before. The magic contained with was old, that much she knew, and connected to the Fade. Her own powers had no effect on its strength, not that they had tested it much, too afraid to tamper with their own means of closing the numerous rifts scattered across Thedas. At least the immediate threat would soon be over.

“What if it doesn’t work?” Brennan chewed his lower lip. “What then?”

“Then we keep trying,” Maxwell shrugged. “We’ll do whatever it takes to close the damn thing.”

Aryana gently ran cool fingers along the crackling wound. “So many questions. How did it get here? Where is it from? Why you? Not that I mind you lived,” she rolled her eyes at his pout, “But did it choose you? Did someone choose you? Or was it chance?”

“Or perhaps it really was Andraste,” Gabriel suggested. The Trevelyans were all extremely pious in their devotion to the Maker, hence why all their sons had been pledged to the Chantry and Templar Order to serve out their days. All of the boys, except Maxwell. She suspected she had something to do with that. While she respected the Andrastian religion as a general whole, Aryana had her own gods she was raised with. Although she didn’t particularly subscribe to any religion these days. The deities of Erythaea seemed too far away. Perhaps they couldn’t even hear her anymore, as far south as she was.

“You don’t really believe that, do you?” staring incredulously at his older brother, Maxwell shook his head. “I am literally the last person that Andraste would pick as her Herald. I mean, look at me.”

“You have a good heart,” the elder templar was unperturbed by his distress. “I mean, you’re not the most devout Andrastian out there, but you’re a good man, Max. Who knows, maybe she counted on Aryana being near you to help keep your head screwed on straight.” Brennan giggled.

“Ha ha, so funny,” Maxwell scowled. “Well, I’m off to bathe and eat.”

“No drinking tonight, Max,” Aryana warned. The Herald of Andraste stuck his tongue out at her.

“You are no fun.”

“It’s like trying to keep track of a child,” she groaned once they were out of earshot.

“Someone’s got to do it,” Cullen commented. “Although I do think he would eventually figure it out on his own.”

“I know, I worry and nag him too much.” Blowing out an exasperated breath, her upper body drooped along the railing. “Honestly, he’s changed a lot since coming here. He’s already more responsible, almost as if he matured overnight. It’s rather disconcerting to see, especially considering the vagabond I’m used to. I am being too hard on him, aren’t I?”

A casual shrug was her only answer.

“Fine,” she grumbled. “I’ll try to ease up on your precious Herald.”

Chuckling, he smiled at her. “Don’t stop entirely. It is rather entertaining. You should probably get something to eat as well. Long day tomorrow.”

“And you, Commander. Have a good night.”

“Good night,” he murmured.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I haven't forgotten about this, for anyone still reading! Still plugging away, bit by bit.


	8. Hope Builds

The chantry was overflowing with people, with still more rushing in by the second. It had all started so promising, too. Sealing the Breach had gone off without a hitch. There would forever be a scar in the sky where the Veil had been torn open, but the Breach itself was gone. Maxwell had been slightly dizzy afterwards with an aching arm, however, by some miracle, that was it. No fainting. No more demons. No more death.

Casks full of ale and wine had been broken open as soon as the army returned to Haven, worn villagers spilling out into the streets, reveling in song and freedom, the weight of their fear finally behind them. Aryana had been gleefully passed from one of her brothers to the next, even taking a turn with the Warden Blackwall and a Tevinter mercenary, dancing in circles around the bonfire. It had been the perfect day.

She should know by now, perfect doesn’t exist.

A man had come to warn them of the approaching army of mages, led by a woman named Calpernia. Haven would have quickly been overrun had Maxwell not used the trebuchet to trigger a massive avalanche, burying the approaching horde. Then the dragon had arrived.

Now, she was crammed into the chantry along with the other survivors, staring numbly at the heavy double doors, knowing that their death was mere footsteps away.

“It cannot end like this,” Maxwell snarled. “I refuse.”

“Let me go,” Aryana said softly, in a paperthin whisper that Cullen almost missed. “I can delay the dragon long enough for everyone to escape.”

“The Elder One wants the Herald, not you,” the pale boy that she couldn’t quite remember informed her. “The Chancellor knows the way out.”

“The trebuchets,” Maxwell said suddenly. “If turn them to the mountains above, we can bury Haven. Commander, you can get everyone out.”

The tall blonde nodded slowly. “We can. But what of your escape?” Steely gray eyes met amber. “I see.”

“Max, _no_.” Lunging for his hands, Aryana shook her head desperately. “You can’t.”

“Commander. Take care of my sister, will you? And make sure my brothers aren’t complete idiots. Arya, listen to me. I have to do this,” he begged. “The Elder One wants me. Go with them,” stilling her protests, he drew her in close for a crushing hug, “Please. I will be able to go so much easier knowing you are safe with the rest. Besides, Gabriel needs you more than I,” he smirked at his brother, standing close behind her.

“Max-” her voice choked in a sob.

“Cassandra, Varric, and Solas will be with me. There’s a chance I’ll make it out of this yet.”

“Try,” she begged, “Please.”

“‘Course I will. Otherwise, I fully believe you would raise my corpse just to kill me again. Can’t have that now, can we?” Pressing a chaste kiss to her hair, he gave her one last hug, ruffling Brennan’s hair and pulling his brothers in. “Keep safe.”

“Maker go with you.”

He was gone. He was gone, and she was still here, safe, such a coward, useless, worthless- A heavy gauntlet wrapped around her wrist. “We have to go,” a familiar low baritone informed her. Mutely, she nodded, turning to start herding the rest of the villagers out the back of the nave. Grabbing one of the packs hastily stuffed with provisions, she swung the leather satchel on her back, sparing just two seconds for a final glance back at the front door, the chantry now bathed in darkness. 

“Arya?” Brennan.

“Let’s go.”

She barely noticed the dark corridor, broken spider webs littering the ceiling, dust swirling through the musty air as the villagers hastily moved out the back entrance, into the blizzard. Because of course there was a blizzard. Pausing on a high ridge, the Commander turned back to her.

“Is there anymore behind you?” A silent no. “Um… Would you mind, perhaps, lending me your bow, my lady?” Wordlessly, she handed the weapon over, one of the other soldiers trotting up with an arrow in his hand. Flicking her fingers, Aryana lit the bolt on fire, watching vacantly as Cullen fitted it to the smooth wood, pulling back the taut sinew and fired it high into the darkness. Three heartbeats later, the ground shook above them, the trebuchet hitting its mark as the mountain roared down. To bury Haven. And Maxwell.

Numb. That’s all she was right now. Maybe all she would ever be. Her brother, her _best friend_ was down there, lying underneath all that snow. Sacrificed himself to save everyone. That was like him, wasn’t it? To die in such a heroic manner that she couldn’t even be angry at him. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. Granted, nothing in her life had ever gone to plan, but this? This was…

It was so cold. Sounds of the wagons creaking, men and women and children crying, speaking in hushed whispers, the druffalos snorting- it was all muffled by the howl of the wind ripping through the valley, only the next few feet in front of them visible. Where were they even going? Did it matter? Did anything matter anymore?

A heavy fur cloak dropped around her shoulders, drawing the first reaction out of her in the hours that had passed since they had left Haven. Confusion. Glancing up, she saw the Commander walking away, his silverite armor reflecting the light of the few magelights that guided their way. _He needs this more than I_. Hastily stumbling behind him, Aryana called out for him, but her voice was lost in the storm, and soon, he disappeared from her view. She paused, drawing the cloak tighter around her shivering frame. _It smells like him._

“Hey, there you are,” Gabriel and Brennan dropped back to where she stood, nose buried in the fur mantle of the Commander’s cloak. “You’re falling behind,” the elder brother gently grabbed her wrist, tugging her behind him.

Rubbing a nose that was bright red, whether from the cold or his sorrow, she didn’t know, Brennan took her other hand, sniffling as they led her along. “He’s stronger than we think,” Gabriel muttered just loud enough so they could hear. “Perhaps Andraste did send him to us. Perhaps there is still hope.”

Hope. That’s what was keeping them going now, wasn’t it? Why they didn’t simply stay in Haven, accept their fate? Why they were now heading into the unknown, fleeing into the blizzard? Because they had hope. All of them. Hope that their Herald’s sacrifice would not have been in vain. Hope that they could still win, still find peace for themselves and their families. How could she do anything less? After all, she wasn’t the only person who lost someone tonight. Almost everyone who survived knew the same keen pain she now felt.

Their rest stops were brief and hurried, pausing only long enough to let the horses and druffalos rest and keep them warm before moving onwards once again. Finally, down in a sheltered valley, the Commander called the halt as the raging storm finally subsided. People immediately got to work, setting up tents, building fires, melting snow for drinking water, anything to keep busy. Her brothers wandered off to help as they could, leaving her standing alone, still and silent, the others giving their Herald’s fiancée a wide berth out of respect for her grief.

She waited until he was done giving his orders, his men fanning out to scout the perimeter and see what wildlife was in the area that would be suitable to hunt. “Commander,” her voice was raw and low. “I believe this belongs to you.”

Glancing up, the creases in his brow softened as he took her in, standing up and resting his hands on his pommel. “You needed it more than I.”

“It would not do for you, of all people, to get sick or contract frostbite. You are needed now, much more than anyone else.” Unfastening the heavy cloak, she made to swing it off, only to be stopped by his gloved hand on her shoulder, warm and comforting.

“I am Ferelden, remember? This is merely a dusting,” he gave her a weary smile even as she handed the garment back to him. 

“The fires are warm enough for me now,” she replied quietly. “What needs to be done?”

Pointing at the tents around the largest fire, Cullen sighed, “We have many injured who need help and not enough healers. That is our main priority, as well as finding food.”

“I can help the healers,” with the tiniest nod, she left him, walking with shaky purpose towards the makeshift infirmary, speaking in low tones with the few able bodied folk moving around. He wished there was something he could say, some magic word that would make her smile again. His heart physically ached for her, his arms twitched as he fought the urge to rush over to her and wrap her up in a tight, warm embrace. He wanted to take her pain away. But he knew there was nothing. Nothing except time.

Stifling a groan, Cullen winced at the pain blossoming between his temples, the icy air doing nothing to help assuage the pounding in his head. _Not now_ , he begged, _I need to keep a clear head now_. But between the circular arguments he was drawn into with Leliana and Josephine and Cassandra about what the Inquisition should do next, where they should go, his men reporting that no wildlife was to be found in the immediate area, and the song of the lyrium calling to him from the myriads of templars surrounding him, it was all but a lost cause.

“Headache?” Barely able to nod by this point, he felt her settle next to him on an upturned crate, her hands hovering over his. “May I?”

“Please,” he croaked. A soft, warm breeze fluttered around him, reminding him of his family’s farm in Honnleath, standing among the fields of golden wheat, basking in the late summer sun. If he concentrated, he could almost hear the childish laughs of his siblings as they scampered after him, trying to hunt their errant brother down. The memory brought the faintest hint of a smile to his exhausted face. Slowly, the pressure in his head began to recede, the throbbing fading to a dull ache before almost completely disappearing, leaving just the memory of pain in its stead. “Maker’s breath,” amber eyes raised to hers in awe. “It’s completely gone, just like that.” And he hadn’t even felt the usual, telltale prickle of magic.

“Nature heals all wounds, given enough time. I just manipulate that,” her smile was slightly crooked as she stood up, frowning at the roll of bandages still in her hand. Her skin and armor were now covered in splotches of blood, both dried and fresh, dark circles lining her eyes, but she was still easily the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. “I should get ba- What’s that?”

Shouts rang across the valley, Cassandra’s voice ringing above them all- “It’s the Herald! He’s returned to us!”

“Max,” the roll of gauze dropped to the snow, forgotten. Cullen’s blood rushed through his head as he jerked to his feet, stumbling through the snow to reach the flickering green light at the top of the hill, catching up to the Seeker as she labored to climb the steep slope they had so recently traversed.

“You’re alive,” he gasped, skidding to a stop in front of the battered man.

“Barely,” Maxwell mumbled. “Shit. Think… that’s it.” Strong arms caught him before he fell to the ground, both the Commander and Seeker sharing the other man’s bulk as they hurried back down the mountain.

“Clear a tent! We need blankets, hot water, bandages, go, go!”

She was waiting by an empty tent as they lurched back into camp, gently laying their savior down on a fresh bedroll. Stepping out to give Aryana room to work, Gabriel pushed his way in, helping to remove his brother’s armor, wiping the blood off as she set to work, carefully weaving her magic. It was bad. Out of four broken ribs, one had punctured his skin, his collarbone had been shattered, and his ankle was badly sprained, not to mention frostbite had started to set into his toes.

“He’s stable,” she gasped finally, after what seemed like hours, unsteady on her feet. “I can’t do anymore tonight, I’m-” Catching her before she hit the ground, Gabriel cradled her to his chest and ducked back outside the tent where the advisors hovered, waiting nervously for news.

“He’ll live. She pushed herself too much,” the templar muttered gruffly to no one in particular. “Told her to stop, let someone else take over, but when did she ever listen to me? Needs to rest.” Following the Lady Josephine to another tent close to the fire, he gently laid her limp body inside and left, searching for a water skin to leave by her bedside for when she awoke. 

With narrowed eyes, he watched as the Commander surreptitiously glanced around, pushing her tent flap open when he decided nobody was paying attention to him and creep in before exiting scant seconds later without his fur cloak. Raising his eyebrow, Gabriel crossed his arms as Cullen turned around, his face glowing red in the firelight at the sight of the eldest Trevelyan.

“We’re short on blankets,” the blonde man said simply. “And she’s always cold.”

“Hmm,” was the only response he got.

*** 

For several seconds, she thought she was back in the Vinmark Mountains, sleeping in a random cave, huddled up on her thin bedroll in front of a tiny fire. The myriads of little rocks poking her back certainly felt like it. Rubbing the sleep from her eyes, Aryana groggily pushed herself up to sit, examining the tent with some confusion. _Where- oh. Haven. The avalanche. Max._ “Max!” 

Throwing her blankets off, she paused, her nose filling with the scent of musk and oakmoss. Reaching out a hand, her fingers closed around soft fur, realizing the Commander had left her cloak with her. Again. A warm rush of emotion filled her belly as she smiled at the kindness. _Even after everything, he is still a gentleman._ Taking a long swig of the ice cold water someone had set near her, she scrubbed her face clean as best she could and stumbled out of the tent. 

There, across the clearing, Max stood, straight and rested, listening to Mother Giselle speak to him. A haunting song soon filled the camp, the familiar words bringing back memories of countless nights spent kneeling in the small chapel in the Trevelyans’ estate, memorizing the Chant and all its hymns until the lady was satisfied. Lyrium blue eyes met amber, Aryana smiling as he began to sing as well. Opening her mouth, she added her own voice to the throng.

“The night is long, and the path is dark. Look to the sky, for one day soon, the dawn will come.”

Her heart threatened to choke her as she watched the people kneel before their Herald, expressions wondrous and reverent for the man who came back from the dead to lead them. Maxwell, however, looked decidedly uncomfortable, awkwardly shifting from side to side until the last refrains faded. It was with great relief that he followed the elven mage, Solas, away from the camp a second later. Chuckling to herself, she turned around.

Cullen’s gaze was hesitant, almost shy as he approached her. “You have a lovely voice.”

“I could say the same about you, Commander.” She held out his cloak. “Are you so determined to freeze?”

“You needed it more than I,” he shrugged, wholly unrepentant. “You slept for an entire day. Thank you, by the way, for healing me. I can finally think straight for the first time in what feels like weeks.”

“Anytime you have need of me, let me know,” she graciously inclined her head. “If you’ll excuse me…”

“Of course, Lady Trevelyan.” Hands on her hips, she waited as Maxwell walked out of the brush at the far end of camp, Solas following sedately on his heels.

“Arya!” Laughing brightly, he ran over to her, grabbed her by the waist and threw her in the air. “You saved me. Again.”

“It’s a full time job trying to keep you alive, Herald,” she giggled. “Maker, but it’s good to see you up.”

“Thanks to you.” Hugging her tightly, he buried his face in her hair. “Everything thanks to you.”

“You’re the hero, Max, not me.”

“I don’t feel like a hero. I feel like a gutted nug who had all its inside stuffed back in and was stitched together. Come on, I need to talk to the advisors.” Approaching the stern faced women and man, Maxwell beamed at them, pointing at the map spread out on the crate. “Here. That’s where we’re going.”

“You have somewhere in mind?” Leliana stared at him as if he had lost his mind. “Herald… Was this the talking purple fennec again?”

Cassandra and Josephine hid their smiles, Cullen coughing into his hand. Aryana turned to him. “Talking… purple… fennec?”

“There were bad mushrooms,” Maxwell muttered, ignoring everyone’s muffled giggles. 

“And pray tell why were you eating strange vegetation?”

“I got drunk one night and ate a random mushroom I found, okay? It was pretty.”

“Andraste preserve me,” Aryana groaned, covering her face with her hands. “I can’t believe you, Maxwell.”

“But no,” the Herald cleared his throat, glaring at the spymaster who was just smiling at him serenely, “Solas told me. There’s a fortress up in the mountains that has been empty for generations. He called it Tarasyl’an Te’las, or roughly translated, Skyhold. It’s big enough for our needs. We can go there.”

“How far is it?” Josephine asked eagerly.

“A few days, nothing too bad. We just need to make it until then. I’ll take a few of the scouts and go ahead in the morning.”

“We can do this,” Cullen murmured, a leather clad finger tracing the map where the Herald pointed. “We still have a chance.”

“We have hope,” Aryana smiled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not entirely pleased with this, but I can't figure out how to make it better right now so here, have some words.


End file.
